


bring a friend this holiday

by TheFledglingDM



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, ER Doctor Leorio, Law Student Killua, Lawyer Kurapika, M/M, Miscommunication, Multiple Pov, Mutual Pining, Nurse Gon, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Themes, Slow Burn, Swearing, Trans Kurapika, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, idiots to lovers, more tags to be added as I remember them and/or they become relevant, this fic would be 3 chapters if these fucking morons just talked but nope here we are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28323495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFledglingDM/pseuds/TheFledglingDM
Summary: And then this beautiful man said to Kurapika, “I have two tickets to this incredible New Year’s Eve party at one of those swanky nightclubs in the city. Be my holidate.”“Be your –what?”Kurapika asked. He sounded like he’d been punched in the throat. Hefeltlike it, too. “Youjustmet me. We’re complete strangers.”“Yeah, that’s why it’s perfect!” Leorio said eagerly. His eyes sparkled. “We’re total strangers. We’re totally uninterested in a relationship right now. It’ll be totally platonic, chill, no-strings-attached. No expectations.”--or: all kurapika wants is for someone to get off his back about being perpetually single. somewhere across town, leorio wants the same thing. After a chance encounter, the two come up with an idea: they will be each other’s no-strings-attached, totally-platonic holidates.what could go wrong?
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Comments: 62
Kudos: 116





	1. Prologue: A Winter's Night

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! happy holidays!! this romantic comedy little ditty of foolishness is brought to you by the netflix romantic comedy, _the holidate._ please watch it if you haven't seen it! it's not a Good Movie, but it's a Great Movie. do you know what i mean? does that make sense?
> 
> part of my goal for this story is to go for a sort of silly, immersive experience. so, chapters will be coming out as holidays happen. so, today is christmas for me (though i don't really specify a holiday in this, because i don't want to handle the notion of the catholic canon in the hxh universe). the next chapter will be up around new year's. then valentine's day. etc. so, i will still be working on _light of my life,_ etc! 
> 
> this series will have more mature themes than _light of my life._ rather than pretty put-together, well-to-do professionals, you'll find that kurapika and leorio here are feeling that special brand of Hell and Insanity that consists of one's late twenties. please enjoy!!!
> 
> fic title is taken from "candy cane lane" by sia.

“We’ll take the deposition first thing Monday.” Kurapika ignored the chill in his fingers as he wrote in his pocketbook. He flapped his hands to will the feeling back into them. “I want to get this started sooner rather than later, because the media is going to be all over this.”

He flipped to the next page of his notepad. He read the name and huffed out a loud sigh. His breath fogged up the air in a white cloud. “Next, the Youpi embezzlement case. I have six of his worker bees coming in to give their statements on Tuesday morning, so we’ll need to be in the office bright and early –”

“Kurapika, what in the _god-damn hell_ are you doing?”

A hand snatched the cell phone away from Kurapika’s ear. He jerked his head up to glare at the interloper, snarling, “Pairo, you asshole, give me that –”

Kurapika reached out to grab back for his cell phone. But Pairo, bastard little brother he was, merely extended one arm and pressed it to Kurapika’s forehead, keeping him in place with his arms swiping through the air like they were ten again. Which was downright _insulting_ , because Kurapika was _not_ ten anymore, thank you very much. He was twenty-seven, and he was assistant DA for Yorknew City, and he had about forty cases on his docket, so if his prick of a baby brother would give him his phone back, that would be _great_ , thanks.

But Pairo was ignoring Kurapika, as he had since they were toddlers. Instead, he was greeting the woman on the other end of the line with cordial familiarity borne from years of putting up with Kurapika’s bullshit. “Melody! It’s so nice to hear from you! Is my big, scary older brother bothering you on this winter’s eve?”

“Go to hell, Pairo!”

Pairo squeezed Kurapika’s head, pulling at his hair, and Kurapika squawked inelegantly. “I know, he _does_ work too hard. Isn’t it annoying?” He winked down at Kurapika. “Yes, ma’am, I’m here to drag him back inside… yes, he was hiding outside to do his work again! It’s better than the bathroom last year, and the basement the year before that… yeah… yes, I’ll make him drink tea… yes, I’ll put him in a blanket –”

“I’m not a child!”

“Yes, I’ll – oh, repeat that?” Pairo listened to Melody. Whatever she had to say made Pairo laugh aloud, dark eyes wrinkling with mirth. “I’ll be sure to tell him that. Pika, Melody says that if you don’t want to be treated like a child, stop acting like one.”

“I _am not_ –”

“Yes, you have a wonderful night, as well, Melody! I’m sure we’ll see each other soon. Have a lovely rest of your evening! Happy holidays, bye-bye!” Pairo ended the call and at last handed Kurapika the phone back, a supercilious expression on his face.

For his own part, Kurapika snatched his phone back and shoved it into his pocket. He straightened his hair and clothes for good measure, as well, glaring at his brother. If looks could kill, Pairo would have been dead years ago.

“That was an important call,” Kurapika snapped.

“It’s all important, Pika,” Pairo said with admirable patience. He folded his arms over his chest, daring to look almost disappointed. “C’mon. It’s the holidays. Take a break.”

“I hadn’t realized crime took a break for the holidays,” Kurapika said icily, folding his arms over his chest in a mirror of Pairo’s position.

“You melodramatic bastard,” Pairo said fondly. “You pretentious asshole. You arrogant douchebag. I hate you. Let’s get the hell inside.”

He caught Kurapika’s elbow and started to drag. Kurapika tried to dig in his heels and fight it, simply for the sake of his pride, but Pairo was larger and stronger than he was, so really, he was embarrassing himself more. With a sigh, Kurapika relented and let his brother drag him into the house. The warmth sent a shudder through Kurapika, head to toe, and he realized he was _freezing_. He allowed Pairo to navigate them through the house, even though they had both grown up here and he could pick a way through these halls blind drunk in an earthquake and a hurricane. The walls boasted enough string lights to put a college dorm to shame, and still more white candles perched on every surface. Crystal snowflake decorations sparkled in the light where they hung – in the windows, from the ceiling, over the mantelpiece with the holly and mistletoe wreaths. The air smelled like cinnamon, persimmons, and citrus.

In the kitchen, a dark-haired man was stirring something in a pot on the stove. At their entrance, he looked up, and a smile spread over his handsome face, blue eyes practically sparkling in the low lighting.

“I see you found him,” Altair observed to his husband. Pairo finally stopped dragging Kurapika through his own childhood home like he was a flight risk (to be fair, he probably was) and walked to Altair’s side. He wrapped an arm around the smaller man’s waist, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.

“Fetch quest complete,” Pairo agreed.

“I guess you’ll be wanting your reward,” Altair teased. He tilted his head back and to the side to meet Pairo’s eyes.

“Well, if you’re going to offer so nicely…” Pairo trailed off, hand reaching up to cradle Altair’s jaw as he pressed a deep kiss to his mouth. Kurapika rolled his eyes at their little display. Then he tapped his fingertips irritably over the table. When his mental timer hit thirty seconds, he finally spoke up.

“If you two are going to make out, can I at least get some wine?” He interrupted loudly. Altair and Pairo parted with a loud _smacking_ sound, breaking down into laughter.

“Such a Grinch, Kurapika!” Altair called. He ladled a generous serving of mulled wine into a large mug, handing it to Pairo to hand to Kurapika.

“Bah humbug,” Kurapika said, only half-kidding. He sipped at the wine, closing his eyes so he could take a moment of peace. Red wine, Grand Marnier, cinnamon, anise. Delicious. At least he had alcohol to keep him warm on this winter’s night.

“That’s Scrooge, I think,” Altair said. He ladled more soup into a mug and handed it to Pairo, next. Pairo accepted it with a soft “thank you, darling.”

“I know,” Kurapika said tiredly.

“Then cheer up some,” Pairo ordered him. “And stop working. Take a break for once in your life.”

“Ah, was he on the porch this year?” Niolah laughed, walking in from the living room with her husband, Rohin. Kurapika tried to keep scowling, but it was hard to do so with his adoptive parents in the room. She pinched Kurapika’s cheek as she walked past him to take her own glass of mulled wine. “My money was on the attic this year.”

“Mine was the basement again,” Rohin added, laughing good-naturedly.

Kurapika frowned at his parents. He couldn’t bring himself to muster up the glare he sent his brother and brother-in-law, but damn, he was _not_ thrilled with this sequence of events. “You take _bets_ on where I’m going to be doing my work?”

“No,” Rohin said gently, his tone a stark contrast from the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “We bet on where you would be hiding from the holiday. Pairo won this year, as you can see.”

 _“Rohin,”_ Niolah hissed, slapping at her husband’s arm.

 _“Dad,”_ Kurapika exhaled, his voice some mix of hurt and annoyed and just _so tired._ He buried his face into his hands.

“What?” Rohin asked. “It’s a well-loved holiday tradition now. I look forward to our scavenger hunt of Where Is Our Son Hiding every year.”

“Tradition?” Kurapika squawked out. He looked at his family, their expressions running the gamut of human emotion. His mother, who appeared genuinely upset; to Altair and Pairo, who exchanged guilty looks; to his father, who simply looked amused. Kurapika added, _“Every year?”_

Niolah glared at her husband. Then she nudged him aside, reaching for her eldest son’s hands where they were wrapped around his thick ceramic mug. Her hands were as soft as he remembered, though now they were so much more knobbly and veined than Kurapika remembered. They were starting to dot over with age spots, a new development since Kurapika’s last visit.

Kurapika wished he could remember what his own mother’s hands looked like.

“We mean it in good fun, truly,” Niolah assured him. Kurapika wasn’t sure if that made it worse or better. “But Kurapika, you work so much. You so rarely take breaks or any time off. I don’t remember the last time you went on a vacation.” She squeezed his hands gently. “Maybe there’s a silver lining to the cat hopping out of the bag. Take this as the gentle nudge it is. Now that you know, maybe you can start to take care of yourself some more.”

Oh. Kurapika knew where this was going. “Mom –”

“Take a vacation. Go out on the town. Maybe find a date or two. A nice boy to settle down with.”

 _There it is._ Kurapika swallowed thickly and made himself smile. He already knew there was no point telling his mother that he was very happy living the single life, thanks. He was far too busy to date. Dating was a nightmare in any case. Who wanted to deal with the hellish caseload, gritty stories, and near-constant work hours of an ADA for a city with ten million people? And Kurapika knew his personality hardly did him any favors. He was a man who called his co-counsel at eight-thirty on a Saturday night to discuss the details of a murder-arson case, after all.

Kurapika forced himself to smile. “I’ll think about it.”

“He said that last year, too,” Rohin sighed. He gently patted Niolah on the back. “C’mon, kids. Time to exchange presents!”

“I’m taking mine back,” Kurapika announced. Pairo laughed and wrapped an arm around Kurapika’s shoulders, steering him into the living room. Kurapika did not throw him off, but only because it was the holidays. Pairo finally relented and let him go when he seemed sure Kurapika was not about to bolt, joining his husband on the well-tended loveseat. Niolah and Rohin took the couch, and Kurapika, still a bit miffed about the whole _annual bet about him_ thing, sat in the armchair. He took a deep pull of his mulled wine as presents were handed out.

Kurapika _tried_ to rally his spirits. He really did. He did not want to be a miserable asshole around his family as well as his colleagues. And he did a pretty good job, if he said so himself; at the very least, he put up a passable front that would probably hold up in court. He smiled at his mother’s gift of new cologne and an embroidered throw blanket. He was even genuinely excited to open a package of nice new leather-bound notebooks and a multi-colored pack of pens and highlighters, regardless of how Pairo booed him for being an insufferable nerd (Rohin _always_ gave the best gifts). Pairo and Altair gave him a very nice whiskey, complete with a crystal decanter, and in a large box was –

Kurapika’s returning good mood soured immediately.

“Pairo,” Kurapika started lowly, his voice not quite a growl but something near it, “Just _what_ , exactly, is this supposed to be?”

“Just a little something,” Pairo replied, his voice too-sweet like ice wine. The grin on his face could barely contain his bubbling laughter. “Since you stay in and work so much, you know. I thought I’d get you something comfortable to wear for it.”

Kurapika pulled the mass of fabric from the box, tissue paper crinkling loudly. _Something comfortable_ was a blue-checkered, fluffy bathrobe. Kurapika might have tolerated the joke if his gaze hadn’t caught on the tag that stated the robe was an XL. Which, hey, Kurapika was not one to judge, but considering he needed to tailor most of his size medium suits…

Kurapika shut his eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled.

“Do you have a receipt?” He asked. And that was the final straw that broke his brothers’ backs, and Pairo and Altair leaned against one another, cackling loudly like the assholes they were.

“Kurapika!” Niolah chided. Rohin did not say anything, but the smile he hid in his mug of wine revealed enough of his opinion.

Altair finally spoke through his cackles. “Bottom of the box, Kurapika.”

Scowling, Kurapika fished the receipt out of the mess of red and green sparkling paper. _Gentlemen’s Loungewear, $29.99,_ the receipt proclaimed. It came from an outlet store in the local mall. Kurapika thought of the utter madhouse that the mall would be when he went to return it tomorrow, and he finished the rest of his wine.

“Thank you for the gifts,” Kurapika said formally, because as pissed off as he was, he was not about to be a right bastard in the middle of their belated winter solstice gift exchange. He snatched at his empty mug and jumped to his feet. “I’m going to get a refill. Does anyone want anything while I’m up?”

There was a chorus of no’s around the room, and the happy chatter picked up again while Kurapika returned to the kitchen. He ladled more wine into his mug and took a sip. Altair had left the burner on, and the drink scalded Kurapika’s tongue. He barely managed to swallow the wine instead of spit it out, so he retained just a little dignity. The downside was he _felt_ the way his throat burned as the liquid went down.

 _Ugh_ , Kurapika thought, grimacing. He licked the taste from his lips. _This sucks._

He was being dramatic, he knew. He could tolerate good-natured ribbing with the best of them. This was not the first time his brothers mocked him for his workaholic lifestyle (and it damn sure would not be the last). Nor was it the first time his mother encouraged him to put himself out there. He knew their meddling and teasing was their way of showing they cared about him. That they were concerned for his well-being. And maybe it was somewhat justified, Kurapika reasoned as he caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror. His hair was getting just a shade too long, his skin was a bit paler than usual, and there were dark, purplish shadows under his eyes. Kurapika _knew_ he worked too much. Kurapika _knew_ he was perpetually exhausted, his patience frayed to the end of its rope. Kurapika _knew_ , in those spare moments when he went to bed, between his eyes closing and his head hitting the pillow and sleep claiming him –

Kurapika _knew_ he was lonely. 

Just a little.

But he would be damned if he ever admitted it. If sworn in to give that testimony, he would perjure himself on the stand before he ever admitted it.

Kurapika sighed again, picking up a wayward candy cane from the bowl in the center of the kitchen island and moodily sticking it in his mouth. Maybe if he sucked it down into a sharp enough point, he could prick himself in the jugular and put himself out of his misery.

~

“What if she says no?”

“Pete.” Leorio used his most calming Doctor Voice. The one he used with little kids terrified of the x-ray machine, and shrieking, kicking babies, and the anxious, sleep-deprived parents of those babies, and high school kids who thought they were dying from getting too high, and adults who “just fell” on whatever was stuck up their asshole that day. And, apparently, thirty-year-old-men who were losing their goddamn shit and getting on Leorio’s last goddamn nerve. “She will not say no. You’ve talked about getting married and agreed you want to. You’ve been planning this proposal for months. You’ve known Lita all our lives. You’ve been dating for, what, six years?”

“Yeah,” Pietro agreed helplessly. His liquid dark eyes were glassy like he was about to cry. If it weren’t for the chill wind out here on the front stoop of the Paladiknight residence, Leorio had no doubt his best friend would be sweating bullets right now. He reached up to fiddle with his low bun of hair for the hundredth time that minute. Leorio swatted his hands down and away, also for the hundredth time that minute. Pietro nodded. “It’ll be okay. She’ll say yes.”

“Yeah,” Leorio agreed patiently. He smiled at Pietro. “Now. I’m freezing my ass off out here, and Lita and ma are going to wonder where we are. Shall we?”

“Yeah,” Pietro repeated. He grinned at Leorio and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Leo. You’re the best.”

Pietro led the way inside the house and sent him one final grin before he disappeared into the crowd to find his girlfriend and soon-to-be fiancé. Leorio returned the gesture until Pietro turned around, and then he let his grin drop. Time to make a beeline for the kitchen.

The townhouse was decorated to the nines, as it was every year. Glowing baubles sparkled in the light. Garlands of holly and frosted cranberries laced around the bannisters, dangled over the mantlepiece, settled beneath the windows with fake snow. The living room was full to bursting between the enormous pine tree covered in lights and ornaments, the sea of glistening wrapped presents, and the wall-to-wall crush of people. As usual, every neighbor and their own freaking relatives had descended upon the Paladiknight household instead of spending the holiday in their own damn houses. Everywhere was _noise_ and _people_ and _more noise_ and Leorio loved these people, he really, really did, but he was also coming off two weeks straight of twelve-hour shifts, and he was _fucking exhausted_ , so forgive him if he was just a little short on patience and the holiday spirit tonight.

He wiggled around clusters of gossiping aunties and rambunctious children and found himself in the kitchen. The dining room table was covered over with enough food to feed an army: deviled eggs, mini sandwiches and sliders, vegetables, chips and dips, meatballs by the dozen, miniature calzones, steak _caprese_ , and more types of pasta than he cared to name. On the kitchen island was a mountain of cookies and little cakes. But Leorio went straight for the pot on the stove. He removed the lid and sniffed. Rich hot chocolate met his nose, and he spooned it into a glass.

Then, after a surreptitious, slightly guilty glance around, Leorio pulled the mini bottle of Bailey’s from his pocket and poured it in.

_“Leorio!”_

Leorio jumped and barely managed to rein in a loud curse. He also just barely managed to keep from spilling his spiked hot chocolate all over his nice dress shirt. Whirling around, Leorio came face-to-face with his mother.

Marcela Paladiknight was not a tall woman. And her petite stature was even more obvious in front of her six-foot-four _brickhouse_ of a son. She put her hands on her hips, scowling up at her eldest boy with a disappointed eye that made Leorio feel about two inches tall, and also like he was fifteen again.

“We are hosting a _holiday party,”_ Marcela told him, as if Leorio might have somehow failed to notice the forty extra people in his family home tonight. “And that is _already_ alcoholic.”

“Hm,” Leorio noted. He looked down at his cup and took a sip. He almost sputtered over it, but he managed to keep himself in check. The back of his throat burned with the cinnamon taste and alcohol burn of fireball whiskey. That, added with the creamy Bailey’s, created a thick, heady concoction that might just get Leorio through this fucking night.

Marcela sighed. “Really? You’re so rarely home anymore, _passerotto_ , and now that you’re finally here, you need to booze your way through it? Between this, and that _man_ Azel brought home…”

“What’s wrong with liking men, ma?” Leorio asked innocently. Marcela scowled up at him and pinched his cheek hard.

“Cheeky little thing,” Marcela grumbled. “I’ve told you all. Whoever you bring home to me, I’ll love you just the same. But I’d like you to have known your _beaus_ longer than a few hours, at least.”

“Oh, yeah?” Leorio took another sip of his drink, savoring the way it burned and settled warm in his stomach. Warmth was finally returning to his fingers and toes. “Who’d he bring this year? The cabbie who dropped him off from across town?”

“The mall Santa,” Marcela told him. She reached for his mug, and Leorio allowed his mother to sip his drink that was about thirty percent alcohol. Meanwhile, Leorio cackled aloud for a few long minutes.

“At least you know he’s good with kids,” Leorio assured her, still chortling. Marcela shook her head.

“Well, in any case, I think the _main event_ for the evening is going to happen soon,” Marcela said, looking up at Leorio with a significant expression that he did not want to bother parsing.

“Oh, yeah?” Leorio checked his watch. It was barely seven. “Seems a bit early for presents, but I guess if you want everyone out by nine –”

“You’re too much like me,” Marcela interrupted. “You get all this sass from me.”

Leorio grinned at his mother, ducking down to press a kiss to her cheek. “I’ve always been a mama’s boy.”

“Then make your mother happy and give me some grandchildren,” Marcela told him, patting his cheek. Over Leorio’s groan, she said, “Your father and I aren’t getting any younger, you know. Though I supposed some of the pressure will be off of you if all goes well tonight…”

Leorio managed not to ask if Azelio was going to pop the question to his date by literally biting down on his tongue. One of the neighbors called out to Marcela to join their conversation, and she left Leorio standing in the kitchen alone. He took another sip of his drink, starting to meander around the house and return to the living room. He managed to avoid three exes, a man who insisted Leorio owed him money from a poker game six years ago (which Leorio _paid_ , dammit, it’s not his fault the idiot was too drunk to remember Leorio forked over the cash that same night, nor was it his fault the fool immediately lost it all in the next hand), and his seventh-grade phys-ed teacher. It was as he was side-stepping into the hallway to “just miss” a friend from high school who kept trying to “reconnect” that he bumped headlong into his middle brother, Azelio.

“Leo!” Azelio shouted, which ruined the past thirty minutes of Leorio trying to _avoid_ everyone he possibly could. Heads swiveled their way, but Azelio ignored them all as he threw an arm around Leorio, staggering into his side and sloshing some of his drink onto his collar. Azelio was the only Paladiknight who came close to reaching Leorio’s height; at six-three, he was almost as tall as Leorio, but where Leorio had filled out into his broad shoulders and gangly limbs in his early twenties, Azelio was tall and weedy. If one were to look up the definition of “beanpole” in the dictionary, they would see a photograph of one Azelio Paladiknight.

“Azel,” Leorio greeted, his arm going to his brother’s waist to steady him. He smelled like spicy cologne and cheap whiskey. “The man of the hour.”

“Not for long,” Azelio said knowingly. Leorio internally groaned; if _Azelio_ knew that Pietro was popping the question tonight, then surely everyone in the damn house did as well. But Azelio blew past the topic of their sister’s soon-to-be-official engagement and asked, “Have you seen _my_ lovely holidate tonight?”

“No,” Leorio lied. Because he had. Of course he had. The friendly-enough man dressed in the Santa outfit eating all of their dad’s meatballs (fucker) was the only person Leorio had not recognized by sight. Then his brother’s words caught up to him, and he frowned. “Wait. What the fuck is a ‘holidate?’”

“Just what it sounds like,” Azelio proclaimed. “A date. For the holiday. We meet, we schmooze, we part ways strangers as before. No strings attached.”

“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Leorio said. “Are you high?”

“What are you, a cop?” Azelio snapped. “Fuck off. You’re not gonna narc on me, asshole.”

“No, dumbfuck,” Leorio hissed. He caught Azelio in a headlock, grinding his knuckles into his brother’s scalp. “I’m your brother, and I’ll _really_ get you in trouble if you brought weed and didn’t share.”

“Shut up, not so loud!” Azelio cried. He elbowed Leorio in the side, catching between the ribs, making him curse and release him. The two suddenly felt the icy chill of their mother’s glare from across the party, and they immediately returned to their best behavior. “I don’t have enough for the whole party, damn.”

Azelio shoved at Leorio, and he finally relented. With a grimace, Leorio sipped again at his drink. It was cooling. He would need to top it off again soon. “It’s just as well. Not like I can partake.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say, you goddamn boy scout,” Azelio said idly. He straightened out his shirt. He peered around the party, his eyes somewhat glazed and distant. Leorio wondered if it was from alcohol, weed, or that third, final drug: hope. And regret.

“I haven’t seen her,” Leorio told his brother quietly. “So I don’t think she’s here.”

“She’s not,” Azelio said. He grinned up at Leorio, and for a moment, his brother looked very small and very young and not at all like the fuck-up middle sibling Azelio seemed to think he was. “She’s with her boyfriend’s family down the street.” He lifted his drink up high. _“Salute!”_

He drank deeply. At Leorio’s sympathetic expression, Azelio snickered. “It’s alright, Leo. Life goes on. For now, I’ve got my holidate. No strings, no feelings, no expectations, no problems.” Azelio grinned up at his brother. “You should give it a try.”

Leorio scoffed. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Fine,” Azelio scoffed. “Your dry spell.”

There was a general cacophony of noise from the living room. Leorio interpreted that as the shout that present exchanges were about to start. He nudged Azelio in the side and made his way back to the kitchen to top off his drink before meandering towards the living area. At this point in the party, people were starting to filter out so they could return to their own homes for gift exchanges. So now there were nearly twenty people in the Paladiknight household: Marcela and Lorenzo, their parents; Leorio, the eldest, standing in the entryway from the entrance hall with his hot chocolate; Carmelita, the second child, sitting on the loveseat with Pietro, looking just like the golden couple they were; Serena with her boyfriend of two years, a grown man who called himself Mickey; her twin, Azelio, who was sitting on his mall Santa holidate’s lap in the armchair; Altea, who was sitting on the floor in front of the fire with her partner, Mars; and finally, the baby of the family, Emilio, who was sitting off to the side with his shoulders slumped and looking miserable as only a nineteen-year-old could. Add to this a smattering of uncles and aunts and cousins, and Leorio was able to skate by relatively unnoticed, which was pretty impressive for a six-four doctor.

It wasn’t that Leorio disliked his family. He loved them. He loved his mother’s meddling and his father’s hardworking tenacity; he loved Lita’s kindness and patience with her clients; he loved Serena’s creativity with the high-end drinks she prepared in the fancy nightclub where she worked downtown, where even celebrities gathered to party it up. He loved Azelio’s glass heart and natural sweetness, how he worked day and night to support himself and figure himself out; he loved how Altea studied hard in her nursing classes by day and tended bar with Serena by night, trying to remain independent and pay her way through school; he loved how Emilio’s guitar and lyrics plucked at the heartstrings of their neighbors and the local kids when he played on their front step during summer nights.

Leorio knew he was a giant, marshmallow-hearted softie under his cranky and invariably exhausted exterior. His parents sacrificed so much when it came to helping Leorio through college and medical school, even though he earned a respectable amount in scholarships. But between the loans, and the late nights, and the part-time jobs, and the blood, sweat, and tears as Leorio worked through college, then medical school, then residency… 

He could look his mother in the eye and say, _ma, I made it._ For that, Leorio would tolerate a million parties.

Maybe it was his total inability to keep up his bitchy façade in the face of such holiday cheer, or maybe the spiked hot chocolate was kicking in, but Leorio found his sour mood finally lifting as presents were doled out. He was not expecting much this year, but he was not disappointed. His mother gifted him fresh socks, as she did every year, and his father got him a home tool set for his new apartment. Carmelita gave him an essential oil diffuser for his living room and an adorable succulent plant. Serena gave him a nice bottle of whiskey, and Azelio a new set of gloves and a scarf. Altea surprised him with two tickets to a New Year’s Eve party at the bar where she and Serena worked, saying that she preferred to stay in with Mars and go to a small get-together with friends than hit up a massive club. And Emilio, the little bastard he was, gave him…

“Emil,” Leorio started slowly as he carefully unfolded the flannel pajama shirt. “I can’t help but notice these look… familiar.”

“Oh, yeah,” Emilio said, not looking up from the gift he was opening from Carmelita. “I got them last year, but I never wore them.”

“I _know_ you got them last year,” Leorio said, summoning up every ounce of patience he possessed, “Because _I’m the one who gave them to you.”_

At _that_ , Emilio finally looked up. He, too, had a fresh package of socks from their mother. He laughed in his eldest brother’s face. “Ha! I remember now. I think they’d look good on you.”

“Which part?” Leorio asked acerbically. “The fact that these are at least four inches too short in the arm and leg, or the fact that they’re Snoopy-patterned?”

“Both,” Emilio snarked back. “Maybe if you showed a little more skin you’d finally get a date.”

“You little –” Leorio wanted to leap up and strangle Emilio for that, but he was prevented from wringing his snotty little neck by the social rules of etiquette and the fact that they were surrounded by their entire family. Which Emilio definitely knew and accounted for, judging by the way he laughed from across the room.

But before Leorio could work out a way to physically pick up and fling his youngest brother into the fire grate, a sudden hush fell over the room. Which meant…

Yep. There they were: Pietro, in all his handsome glory, dropping down onto one knee in front of Carmelita. He was speaking for only Carmelita to hear, professing his undying love and affection and telling her how he wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. Leorio knew the speech by heart, because he was the one who helped Pietro write it. And rehearse it. For months.

They looked like a goddamn hallmark movie like that, sitting in front of the tree and the fire, all beautiful and happy and Leorio beamed for them, a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes and he clapped and wolf-whistled and clapped his oldest, dearest friend on the back for finally popping the question… 

Family members rushed past Leorio, jostling him aside to get their turn to congratulate the happy couple. As he faded into the background, he started to feel that miserable, bone-deep exhaustion returning. With it came something sad and blue and a little ugly. A seed of loneliness and jealousy that he worked so, so hard to weed out, but that still managed sometimes to burst into bloom right under his nose. 

Leorio was twenty-nine, and while his sister got engaged, he got re-gifted Snoopy pajamas.

Leorio grimaced and dug his hand into the nearby candy bowl. He yanked out a candy cane and ripped off the wrapper to suck on it. Maybe if he made a sharp enough point, he could fashion himself a shiv and just put himself out of his fucking misery.

~

Kurapika was not a particularly religious person. Sure, spirituality was something he fell back on when his birth parents were killed in a car accident when he was a young child, and thinking that they were in a better place and still watching over him was a comforting thought. But on the whole, he would not consider himself particularly religious, or spiritual, or whatever.

All of this was a long-winded set-up to say that if there was a hell, Kurapika was positive it was the mall at two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon.

It was crowded. It was loud. It smelled like cinnamon and burned coffee and a million perfume scents from the pop-up stand blocking the walkway. Everywhere he turned there was a tiny prepubescent shouting about the latest TikTok, and Kurapika _wished_ he didn’t know what that was, but his legal intern for the year, Killua, never got off his damn phone except to blow them all away with his effortless brilliance, the prodigy bastard.

It didn’t help that Kurapika was also exhausted, perpetually behind on work, and a bit hungover after last night. Nor did it help that the customer service line and the check-out line were one and the same when Kurapika went to return this stupid bathrobe.

It _also_ didn’t help that the man who got in line behind Kurapika was Tall and Hot and Smelled Fucking _F_ _antastic_ , like smoke and incense and a fresh sea breeze. Kurapika refused to look at the man any more than that, because he was twenty-seven and an adult and a district attorney and not one of the prepubescents that almost bowled him over in the mall. So Kurapika kept his head tucked down over his phone, mashing out emails with his furious two-thumb typing.

“Sir? Next in line? Sir?”

Kurapika jerked his head up from his fifth email that month lambasting Hisoka to _please_ stop using glitter gel pens to sign his paperwork, because this was a place of business and not a middle school yearbook. His concern was with the glitter gel pens _in general_ , you see, and not with the use of pink, blue, green, or purple.

Kurapika met the gaze of the beleaguered sales associate, looking like a deer caught in a set of high-beams. The man behind Kurapika muttered to him, “she means you,” like Kurapika was a moron.

Kurapika twisted his neck to glare up at the man. Which was a mistake. Because he was, as mentioned previously, _hot_. Olive-toned skin, strong features, a fine dusting of scruff over his jaw, hazel eyes. He decided to swallow his tongue and carry on with his dignity more or less intact.

So he ignored the tall drink of water and marched up to the counter. He sent the sales associate a pleasant, perfunctory smile. “Hi. I’d like to make a return.”

He set the pile of fabric half his size on the counter. Kurapika may have been imagining it, but he swore the man behind him snickered at his expense.

“Do you have a receipt?” The associate asked. As if Kurapika was one of those assholes who came into a store demanding to return something without the requisite paperwork. As he handed the associate his receipt, the man who stood behind Kurapika in line was called to the check-out counter beside him.

“Afternoon,” the man greeted. “I’d also like to make a return?”

He pulled a full set of fuzzy, cotton pajamas out of his bag. They were patterned all over with prints of Snoopy in various poses: sitting on his red doghouse, in his airman’s cap, wearing his Joe Cool sweater. Unbidden and totally inappropriately, Kurapika’s mind conjured up a mental picture of the man in that silly pajama set. Before he could stop himself, Kurapika snickered out a laugh of his own. The man sent Kurapika a withering look.

 _Cute_ , his mind unhelpfully informed him. Kurapika shoved the thoughts aside as the associate spoke up.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid I can’t process this return.” Kurapika’s heart dropped. “These were purchased more than thirty days ago, and from our clearance section, and by our company policy, I’m afraid I can’t accept these.”

Kurapika blinked. He summoned up the last dregs of his self-control to school his expression into its best courtroom poker face. It was not this sales associate’s fault that his brother had definitely, one hundred percent done exactly this on purpose, because he was a bastard asshole monster.

“I see,” Kurapika said blankly.

Beside him, the man seemed to be having just as much luck as he was.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the sales associate said with admirable aplomb from their register. “These were purchased more than a year ago, and moreover, they don’t have the receipt or the tags. I’m afraid we can’t accept them.”

 _Ha!_ Kurapika thought brutally, a juvenile impulse that surprised him. He wasn’t able to stifle his scoffing laugh in time, though, and the man glared down at him. His jawline could cut glass. Holy shit. Kurapika wanted to stick his tongue out at him.

But then the man turned to the sales associate and his mouth split into a smile. A real, genuine, million-megawatt smile. Holy _shit_.

“It’s alright,” the man said. His voice was smooth honey and crushed velvet. _Holy shit._ “I understand. It’s not your fault.” He looked down at Kurapika like he thought he was about to throw a fit in this check-out line. His eyes were hazel, mingling shades of jade and caramel and dark chocolate. Kurapika felt like a fish caught on a line, completely motionless and struck dumb and _staring_ at this _stupid_ -attractive man. “These things happen. We were just leaving.”

 _“We” were not doing any damn thing,_ Kurapika wanted to say, but he did not want to make any more of a scene, and that damn _voice_ , low and smooth and authoritative, made Kurapika’s gut clench in a completely unexpected way that he refused to parse. So he let himself be ushered off to the side and out of this store by a tall, dark, and handsome stranger.

Whatever odd spell he cast over Kurapika seemed to fade as soon as he walked past a Bath and Bodyworks and a twenty-something coed accidentally sprayed a sparkling, sickly-sweet body mist in his face. It smelled like vanilla and marshmallows and cherries. Kurapika coughed, waving his hand over his face, and the man beside him laughed aloud. The sound was a colored sparkler on a summer night, or something equally bullshit and poetic.

Kurapika scowled up at him. “Thanks for your _help_.”

The man either missed his sarcasm or refused to acknowledge it. “Any time,” he said breezily. He held out a hand. “Doctor Leorio Paladiknight.”

Oh. He was one of _those_ types. Kurapika felt his lip curl and took his hand in a firm handshake. “Just Kurapika, please. _Juris Doctor_.”

“Oh, neat,” Leorio noted. His hand was like fire against Kurapika’s constantly cold fingers. “We’re both fucking insufferable.”

Kurapika spluttered out an inelegant, surprised laugh, his hand moving up to cover his mouth. “Well, it took a while to earn the degree, you see.”

“Don’t I know it.” Leorio reached up to run a hand through his hair. “They told us residency would be miserable, but nothing really _prepares_ you for it until you’re there. I swear haven’t slept in six months.”

“What year are you?” Kurapika asked. Why was he still talking to this man? Why was this man still talking back? He would have supposed their cars must be in the same direction, but Kurapika knew full well he was parked on the opposite end of the mall, and with every step he was making his trek even longer. Still, he found himself falling into step beside this total stranger, making small talk as they wandered through the busy mall.

“Second year,” Leorio said. “Yorknew General. They don’t let us specialize, but I specialize in emergency medicine anyway. What d’you do?”

“I’m a district attorney for the city,” Kurapika shared. “Cases and criminals and all that.”

“So you’re a narc.”

“Fuck you,” Kurapika immediately replied to this total stranger. Leorio barked out a laugh at that, loud and effortlessly unselfconscious.

“Yeah, I deserved that. So what were you doing in there, then?” Leorio asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Returning what looked like a circus tent?”

“It was a _robe_ , thank you, and it was my brother’s idea of a ‘gentle nudge,’” Kurapika said. “Apparently, everyone in my life thinks I’m a miserable old grandpa about to fade into dust.”

Leorio nodded knowingly. “The Thanos snap.”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“Because you’re a miserable old grandpa, I imagine,” Leorio said, and he laughed again when Kurapika glared up at him. It was unnerving. This was The Look that made criminals and uncooperative witnesses shit themselves on the stand. But Leorio only laughed like he thought Kurapika was the funniest person in the world. He wasn’t even condescending about it. Kurapika kind of wanted to hit him.

“Is it so bad to focus on my career?” Kurapika demanded. He wasn’t even asking Leorio, specifically. But something about the man’s attentive ear and questions burst the bubble that kept Kurapika’s frustrations locked up inside. Before he could think better of venting to a total stranger, he was saying, “Everyone thinks that I’m so lonely and miserable because I’m twenty-seven and single. Well, maybe I’m single because I want to be! Maybe I know what a nightmare dating a lawyer would be, and I’m trying to be considerate for once in my godforsaken life!”

“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir here,” Leorio assured him, putting his hands up in mock defense. He nodded in agreement with Kurapika. “My mother won’t let up about me settling down, as if anyone would want to date a guy three hundred grand in medical school debt who hasn’t had a day off in a month. Those pajamas I was returning? A re-gift, from my own brother, from _last year.”_

Kurapika laughed. It was refreshing to speak to someone so candid. “You mean you’re not a _Peanuts_ fan?”

“Of course I am. I’m not a bastard,” Leorio said. “But I’m about five inches taller than him, so they’d be a bit _snug_ , if you catch my – oh, _motherfucker_ , hide me.”

And Kurapika gave another undignified squawk as this man suddenly bolted behind him, hunching down as if his slender, five-seven frame would in any way, shape, or form cover his sexy majesty. It was also somewhat alarming, because a doctor ought to be smart enough to work out that attempting to hide behind someone a full foot shorter than he was would actually bring _more_ attention to him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Kurapika demanded, for real this time. He peered about for some kind of threat. The most threatening thing in the vicinity was the mall’s central holiday display, featuring Santa’s toy land, retinue of elves, and the jolly man himself sitting in an enormous, overstuffed velvet chair.

“I’m hiding, obviously!” Leorio hissed into Kurapika’s ear. His breath fanned over the side of his neck, stirring his hair, and Kurapika almost shuddered.

“Yeah, I fucking got that,” Kurapika said. “From _whom?”_

“Oh, you pedantic asshole, of course you would use proper grammar,” Leorio said. “Santa! He was my brother’s holidate to my family’s party last night!”

“What the _hell_ is a _holidate?”_ Kurapika demanded.

“What the hell does it _sound_ like?” Leorio sniped back. He finally stood back upright when it seemed like the Santa did not see him. “He was my brother’s date to our family party last night. His holiday date. His holidate. It’s a portmanteau, you see.”

“I know what a portmanteau is!” Kurapika snapped. “That’s stupid. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Which part?” Leorio asked. By now, they had meandered out of the mall and found themselves in the botanical garden beside the enormous building. In the spring and summer, the trees and planters would be full of flowers. But now, in the dead of winter, they were covered in snow and thousands of lights in various colors. Red, green, blue, yellow, purple, white – the air was aglow with shimmering lights. Couples meandered past them, giggling and hand-in-hand, and Kurapika noticed none of them, because he was too busy arguing with this infuriating, funny, absurdly handsome man. “The fact that my brother’s date was another man?”

“Yeah, as Yorknew’s first openly gay, trans public servant, that’s definitely my concern,” Kurapika snapped back testily. “No, the _holidate_ part.”

“Oh, fair. Sorry about that,” Leorio said. “Protective brother instinct. Anyway, it’s totally a thing. Holy shit. Wait.” He stopped moving. Kurapika went on for a few more steps before he stopped, too, twisting around to look at this stranger. The white lights illuminated him in an ethereal glow that shone on his tanned skin and caught on the soft gold in his eyes. His cheeks were rosy and pink from the chilly air, and his breath puffed out in little white clouds in front of him. Somehow he found the line between _adorable_ and _sexy_ and skipped rope with it.

And then this beautiful man said to Kurapika, “I have two tickets to this incredible New Year’s Eve party at one of those swanky nightclubs in the city. Be my holidate.”

Kurapika was utterly positive he was being punk’d now. Because there was no earthly way a man as handsome and funny as Doctor Leorio Paladiknight had trouble scoring a date. There was no way his dating situation was so miserable and lackluster he needed to resort to a random guy that he met in the return line in the local outlet mall. He was absolutely being made fun of right now.

“Be your – _what?”_ Kurapika asked. He sounded like he’d been punched in the throat. He _felt_ like it, too. “You _just_ met me. We’re complete strangers.”

“Yeah, that’s why it’s perfect!” Leorio said eagerly. His eyes sparkled. Fucking _sparkled_. “We’re total strangers. We’re totally uninterested in a relationship right now. It’ll be totally platonic, chill, no-strings-attached. No expectations.”

“We’re still _strangers_ ,” Kurapika said weakly. It was a half-hearted protest at best, which was terrible, and stupid, and embarrassing.

Because if he wasn’t really trying to argue this… it meant he was actually _considering_ it.

Leorio grinned at him. There was a dimple on his cheek. Kurapika wanted to scream.

“Alright.” Leorio took a step towards Kurapika, closing the space between them with a confidence that belied the twenty or so minutes they had spent in each other’s company. “Let’s see. I love ramen and Zaban. I prefer craft beers to wine or cocktails, though I can appreciate a nice pinot noir. I smoked in high school and college but quit in med school. I’m the oldest of six. I was born and raised in the Dockside District. I call my mother every Sunday.” He tilted his head. This time, his smile was a bit slower, more genuine. It wasn’t flirtatious. It just… _was._ “Your turn.”

Kurapika folded his arms over his chest. “Alright. I’m adopted. I have one younger brother. I love spicy food; the more painful, the better. I used to party in college but now I can barely stomach a shot of tequila – shut _up_ , stop laughing. I know how to sew. I speak two languages. I have a horrible weakness for reality TV and cooking shows. If I’m going to die, I want to go out eating my weight in egg rolls.”

“If?” Leorio repeated.

“I don’t stutter,” Kurapika said. Leorio chuckled.

“How’s that?”

“It’s a start.” Kurapika’s mouth was jumping leaps and bounds ahead of his mind. Leorio reached into his pocket for his wallet and started to dig through it.

“Look. It’s not a date. It’s just two dudes who barely know each other going to a New Year’s Eve party.”

“Oh, so like a date?” Kurapika asked, lifting an eyebrow. Leorio laughed again.

“A chill date. Like I said: totally platonic, no expectations. We’ll get dressed up, get drunk, and get our families off our backs.” He tugged out a slip of paper that looked like a coffee receipt and scribbled something on it. He held out the phone number to Kurapika. “You don’t need to say anything now. Just consider it.”

After another moment’s hesitation, Kurapika accepted the paper. Leorio sent him a two-fingered salute.

“Have a good one. Happy holidays. It was nice to meet you, Kurapika.”

Kurapika would swear on the stand that the red heat that swept over his neck and cheeks was the result of the brisk winter evening air. But he was also pretty sure that would be perjury, too.

~

Leorio was _not_ moping.

Nor was he _pining_. Nor _yearning_. He wasn’t even _hoping_.

He was certainly not sitting hunched over the central carousel of Yorknew General’s Emergency Department, hand propping up his chin, twisting his phone over and over in his hand and staring at the blank screen.

No, Leorio Paladiknight, MD, second-year resident, was not staring at his phone like a lovelorn schoolboy hoping the sexy lawyer he bumped into in the mall on Saturday would text maybe him in the next day or so.

There was no way the man – _Just Kurapika_ – was as handsome as Leorio’s memory made him out to be. No way he was that adorable and charming, with those delicate features and tempestuous expressions, that blond hair that fluttered about his face in the winter wind, those stormy, gray-blue eyes. No way his smile was that brilliant, like sunshine bursting out from behind a raincloud. No way his laugh was that high and bright and perfect, ringing like bells.

There was no way he was that snarky and sassy, bantering playfully with Leorio and giving him absolutely no leeway on his teasing bullshit.

And most important of all, there was no way in hell a man like _that_ was going to take a man like _Leorio_ up on his stupid holidate offer.

Which was probably for the best. Leorio knew he would be diving headfirst into a massive can of worms if he tried to go on a “totally platonic, no expectations” date with the man he hadn’t been able to get off his mind since Sunday afternoon. Especially since it was half-past midnight on a Tuesday (well, Wednesday now).

Kurapika was right. This was stupid. Holidates were stupid. The holidays were the worst. Leorio was in hell, and he was going to die alone with nothing but a mountain of student loan debt and a half-dead succulent to show for his miserable existence.

“You alright, Leorio?” a voice piped up from just over Leorio’s shoulder. When he looked up, it was to see the sweetly angelic face of Gon Freecss, one of their night staff nurses. He was holding two steaming cups of coffee, one of which he held out to Leorio.

“You’re a godsend,” Leorio said gratefully, accepting the cup and drinking deeply. He was not sure how Gon did it, but somehow the nurse was able to take the horrible hospital sludge and turn it into something actually _palatable_. “I’m fine.”

“You seem upset, though,” Gon pressed gently.

“Nah,” Leorio lied. He made himself sit up straight, taking another sip of his coffee. “I’m just tired as usual. Looking forward to my next day off.”

It was unusual for Leorio to have so much time off (meaning multiple days in the space of a few weeks). But the ER Chief, Doctor Cheadle Yorkshire, had pulled Leorio aside to bully him into using some of his paid time off, or else he was in danger of burning out or fucking up or, even worse, _losing it_ , so she demanded he take off the holiday weekend, New Year’s Eve, and New Year’s Day. 

Not that it mattered, Leorio mused, his miserable, cyclical thoughts going back to the beginning to start all over again. Because he had no plans, and nothing to do, and he just managed to look stupid and pathetic and desperate to the adorable, hilarious, snarky lawyer he met in the mall. He was going to get a calzone and wings and a pack of beer and watch the ball drop on television and contemplate his forever alone existence.

His phone buzzed in his hand. Leorio startled, dropping the phone onto his patient charts and almost yelping aloud. Gon blinked, staring at him strangely. Which made sense. Because Gon was under the impression that the medical residents kind of had their shit together, and weren’t chaotic bisexual disasters wearing last week’s scrubs.

Leorio’s heart was pounding in his throat as he unlocked his phone. He had one text from an unsaved number. The message was short and to the point.

_Fine. A “holiday date.” Just for New Year’s. Where?_

Leorio read the message at least six times. A grin slowly spread over his mouth. He was too old and too tired and too thrilled to be embarrassed at how quickly he typed out his reply.

_Club Aurora. 10pm._

Leorio wanted to add more. He wanted to ask what Kurapika was doing up so late, except he was a lawyer, and he supposed they put in long hours just like doctors. He wanted to say he was looking forward to it, that he really thought it would be fun. But that would be against the entire point of this _platonic, no expectations, no strings attached_ holidate thing.

His phone buzzed again. Kurapika wrote, _Fine. See you then._

Leorio beamed down at his phone. He completely missed Gon’s half-surprised but mostly knowing smirk as he replied, _See you then._


	2. New Year's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurapika and leorio go out for their new year's eve holidate. and it goes really, really well. too bad they're both too dumb to figure that out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *skidding into ao3 as my clock strikes 7* I DID IT I MADE IT FOR THE HOLIDAY!!!!!
> 
> please enjoy!!! thank you for reading!!!

“Kurapika,” Pairo said patiently. “This is fucking insane.”

“Yeah,” Kurapika agreed easily. He frowned over his suits, trying to find something that he could wear to an outing like this. He wanted to look good, but not _too_ good. Fun and sexy, but not like he was trying too hard. Which meant none of his courtroom suits, and therefore, ninety-five percent of his wardrobe was out. Damn.

“Okay, good, so you _know_ it’s batshit,” Pairo said. He ran his hands through his hair. The thick, dark curls were standing on end from his constant fiddling for the past thirty minutes as he tried to parse just what the hell his brother was doing.

“I’d think you would be pleased,” Kurapika admonished. He flicked past a velvet maroon suit jacket. Why did he have that? When did he buy that? He would look like the ringmaster at a discount gay circus. “I’m going out on the town. With a…” Kurapika made a face that Pairo couldn’t see. “A date? A platonic date.”

“Then what is the goddamn point?!” Pairo shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. “If you’re going out and _already know you won’t be getting any!”_

“Romantic,” Kurapika snarked. He knew his brother was not nearly so mercenary; he’d read his books, including the sappy romances he put out under a pseudonym. Why Pairo did not think Kurapika (or anyone else, for that matter) would work out the identity of _I. Paro_ , he would never understand. “In any case, we both know that no date is guaranteed sex. This just clears things up ahead of time. Hence, _platonic_. Think of it as two men just casually spending New Year’s together.”

_“You met him in the Brooks Brothers return line!”_ Pairo yelled. “Like… _yesterday!”_

“Hmm,” Kurapika hummed. He thoughtfully compared an embroidered suit he wore to a wedding a few years ago and a second suit he wore to another wedding. If he did not purchase a suit for court, then he purchased it for a wedding. Because Kurapika was still solidly in that special time in a man’s life when all his friends were getting married around him, and he was forever at the single’s table. “Sunday, actually.”

Pairo looked ready to shout again, but at last there was a knock on Kurapika’s bedroom door. Altair stepped through a moment later, bearing some water for all of them. Very rationally and reasonably, he said, “I think we could all use a short breather. Pairo, breathe, dear.”

“Thanks,” Pairo sighed. He took a long sip of his water. “Kurapika. You don’t need to do this.”

“Oh, that’s _hilarious_ ,” Kurapika said, rolling his eyes. He spun around to point an accusatory coat hanger at his brothers. “Less than a week ago you were taking bets on where I was going to sneak away to do extra work. Now, I actually _have_ a date, and you won’t shut up about how stupid you think it is!”

“I thought you’d go about it in the _normal_ way!” Pairo argued. “Like… a professional mixer. A dating site. Tinder. Grindr.”

Kurapika snorted. “Really. Show me one lasting relationship that started on Grindr. I’ll eat my entire fantasy anthology.”

“Don’t be a prick,” Altair said warmly. He turned to Pairo, placing a gentle hand on his partner’s knee. “You know, Pairo, I think this could be fun. It’s not the most auspicious start –”

“It is the _opposite_ of a meet-cute,” Pairo sniffed, like that was really the part that bothered him the most about this endeavor.

“– Yes, well, that’s okay,” Altair said. He met Kurapika’s eye and smiled. “They’re adults. They’ve communicated their expectations, so there’s no pressure going in.”

“What if he’s a serial killer?” Pairo asked. He looked at Kurapika as if he knew something about Leorio’s criminal proclivities. “What if he’s a lightweight who can’t dance?”

“Great priorities, Pairo,” Kurapika intoned. “Because _I_ go out dancing so often.”

“Well, what do you know about him?” Pairo asked.

“Oh, that’s a good question.” Altair beamed up at Kurapika with a terrible, mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “What do you know about him? What on earth was it about this man that convinced you to go on a… _holidate?”_

Kurapika internally cringed at the portmanteau, as he always did. He stood up straight and started to tick off on his fingers. “His name is Leorio. He’s a doctor. He’s doing his residency at Yorknew General. He’s the oldest of six. He’s local. What more do you need to know?”

“Is he _nice?”_ Pairo demanded. “Is he _smart?_ Is he _funny?”_

“Is he _hot?”_ Altair asked. Pairo gasped loudly, slapping Altair’s knee. He pointed an accusing finger at Kurapika like a discount Phoenix Wright.

“Yes! Yes, that is the most important question!” – “Oh, _not_ the one about him being a serial killer?” – “Is he hot?!”

Kurapika froze. His brilliant memory, usually his greatest asset when it came to his work – remembering facts of the cases, recalling bits of precedent to help him at just the right time, picking apart inconsistencies and fallacies in testimonies – now became his downfall. He thought of Leorio’s skin, several shades darker than his own; his eyes, that mix of greens and browns that Kurapika could lose himself in; that flashbang of a smile, brilliant and glowing and shutting down Kurapika’s ability to think; that voice, low and husky; and that laugh, and that banter, and the slightly crooked slant of his nose, and the little scar bisecting his eyebrow, and the breadth of his shoulders, and the elegant curl of his fingers, and and and –

“Holy _shit_ ,” Pairo breathed.

“There we go,” Altair observed smugly.

Kurapika whirled around, almost sending his suit flying. “What?”

He almost flinched in horror at himself. This was _textbook_ defensive speaking and body language. A child would know he was trying to bluff his way out of a corner. Pairo and Altair beamed up at him with, if not matching smiles, matching mischief and gloating.

“He’s hot,” Pairo stated.

“Like, ‘broke Kurapika’s brain’ hot,” Altair agreed.

“Broke the _scale_ hot,” Pairo added.

“Oh, maybe there’s a picture of him on the Yorknew General site?” Altair suggested. And then he reached for his phone, which finally broke Kurapika’s horror-and-embarrassment-induced trance and made him leap into action. Pairo caught Kurapika in a headlock, the former wrestler stopping his attempted assault on his too-nosy-to-live husband. “Because they have pictures of us on the Residency page at Yorknew West. So if I…”

“You suck. You’re the worst. I hate you. Neither of you are my brothers anymore. I’m an only child and I am writing you out of my will,” Kurapika snarled. He made a swipe for the phone, and Pairo caught his wrist and pinned it to the comforter.

“Like you have anything to leave in a will right now,” Pairo said. “You’re twenty-seven. What assets do you have to dole out? I’ll just take your plants. Don’t need paperwork for that.”

“I _hate_ you,” Kurapika repeated emphatically.

Altair, resolutely ignoring their roughhousing, was still flickering his fingers over his phone screen. “Yorknew General Residency Program – yes! Okay, okay, what’s his name again?”

“Leorio,” Pairo said over Kurapika’s general shout of _“nooo!”_

“Okay, okay,” Altair muttered. “Leorio, Leorio. Let’s see…”

Kurapika knew the moment Altair found Leorio’s picture, because he stopped frantically scrolling. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, and he started _laughing_. Great, heaving, full-bellied laughs, cackles and chortles and snorts. Pairo and Kurapika froze, the former confused, the latter filling with indescribable dread.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Pairo gloated. “Altair, you’re the best. Incredible. Show me, show me, show me!”

Altair twisted the phone around, tapping on the screen so that Leorio’s profile filled the screen. Both men stared at the phone. The man Kurapika met in the Brooks Brothers line was indeed on Altair’s phone screen, and – yeah, he was _exactly_ as stunning as Kurapika’s brain remembered. The same smooth skin, the same gorgeous eyes, the same thick, dark hair. His smile was a bit more muted in this picture, something nervous and excited and kind, and Kurapika drank in the sight of him. 

He was real. Kurapika had not made him up in a loneliness-and-workaholism-induced-break. Leorio Paladiknight, MD, was real, and he was an Emergency Medicine Resident at Yorknew General, and he graduated from one of the city colleges, and he was wearing a forest green shirt in this picture that highlighted the flecks of green in his eyes, and he was wearing _glasses_ in the picture, wire-rimmed, oval-shaped things, and Kurapika’s brain just _screeched_ to a halt.

“Oh, everything makes sense now,” Pairo was saying. “You know what? Yeah, _Pika_ , I’d say yes if he asked me out, too.” Then he pinched Kurapika hard in the side. “And you specifically told _this man_ it _wasn’t_ a date?”

“Because it’s not!” Kurapika cried. He rubbed at his side, wincing. Pairo pinched as hard at twenty-five as he had at five. “And we mutually agreed to that!”

“Well, you’re both damn morons,” Altair announced. He looked at the picture again. “Kurapika, he’s _hot_ , and I say this as a happily wedded, sexually satisfied man.”

“Ew.”

“Like, _very_ satisfied.”

_“Ew.”_

“Like,” Altair added, totally ignoring Kurapika’s protestations. Even worse, Pairo was nodding in understanding. Or agreement. Ew, ew, _ew_. Someone please put him out of his misery. “This man could be a model. How tall is he?”

“At least six feet.” Kurapika’s own mouth was betraying him now. His body and sensibilities seemed to be in full-tiered revolt against his self-imposed dry spell, it seemed.

_“At least –!”_ Pairo and Altair shouted together. As if his _height_ of all things decided something, Altair suddenly leapt from the bed and started rooting through Kurapika’s closet. Pairo released Kurapika from his near-chokehold, which was cool, but then he snatched up one of the six decorative pillows he had on his bed and started beating him with it, which was less cool. 

“Ow, ow, _ouch_ , hey – stop it – quit that!” Kurapika yelped. He snatched up a second pillow and went on the offense, as well. This entire situation felt far too much like an eighties teen movie, which he might have been embarrassed by, but then Kurapika got a good wallop on the side of Pairo’s head, and that felt good enough to make up for the past fifteen minutes. 

“Stop that,” Altair ordered, his entire upper half still in Kurapika’s closet. He yanked out something from the very far end and flourished it like he was in a color guard. “You’re wearing this.”

Kurapika shoved his hair back from his forehead. Altair was holding up a deep blue jacket he could not even remember purchasing. He lifted an eyebrow. _“_ _Just_ that? They won’t let me in, Altair.”

“Shut up.” Altair hung the jacket on the closet door. “White button-up. No tie. _Maybe_ a vest. _These_ pants.” He tugged out a pair of black jeans. “And those black boots, the ones that look like docs but aren’t. Silver accents.”

“Will you iron my clothes for me, too, mom?” Kurapika asked sarcastically. He stood up to join Altair in rifling through his closet, running a hand over the fabric of the suit jacket. It was a deep blue, a bit darker than navy, with black lapels. He shrugged it on to make sure it still fit. It was a bit snug around his shoulders, but the rest of it fit like a dream.

“Yeah, darling, that was a good choice,” Pairo said, complimenting his husband over his brother. Altair made a kissing noise at Pairo in thanks before he turned to Kurapika. After an assessing gaze that made Kurapika feel like a lab specimen being dissected, he gave an approving nod. “Yes, that’s it. Brings out your eyes.”

“Think so?” Kurapika turned around to look at himself in the mirror. The jacket _did_ suit him, the dark color playing off his pale skin and hair and highlighting the blue in his eyes. He looked slim and svelte and… and _good_. Kurapika frowned at himself in the mirror. When was the last time he really put care and attention into how he looked? Not even for others, but for _himself?_

“Something wrong, Kurapika?” Pairo asked.

“Just thinking,” Kurapika said slowly. He did not want to delve into his sudden revelation right away. Instead, he asked another question skirting the edges of his consciousness. “So, what changed? Twenty minutes ago you were all but calling me desperate for doing this. Now you’re tripping over yourselves to prep me for tomorrow.”

Pairo and Altair exchanged those Looks of theirs, the ones that told Kurapika they were having a full conversation in front of him with just their microexpressions. As if coming to an agreement, they returned their attention to Kurapika as one.

Altair said: “Because he has kind eyes.”

Pairo said: “Because he left you speechless.”

Kurapika said nothing, because he really was not sure how to answer that.

~

If someone were to steal Leorio’s cell phone and browse his recent search history, it would have been an illuminating window into his current mental state.

_Cardiomyopothy symptoms & signs_

_How much caffeine can starbucks legally serve_

_How much caffeine can dunkin donuts legally serve_

_How much red bull too much_

_5 cans of red bull hands shaking dying???_

_Power saw (medical use)???_

_Conversation ideas for platonic dates_

_Who pays on platonic dates_

_How early is too early to show up for date (platonic)_

(It had been a long few days.)

But now it was New Year’s Eve. And Leorio’s leg was bouncing anxiously beneath him as he watched Yorknew pass by through the subway windows. With the state of public transportation on the holiday night, he decided he was better off showing up a bit too early rather than late (out of common courtesy, because this was platonic, but Leorio was going to respect Kurapika’s time, at the very least). So he took the 9:15 train downtown, which would get him there just past 9:40, which was too early but also it was better than taking the 9:25 and showing up at ten till, and then with the traffic and bustle of the city crowd as people went out carousing he would be late, and then Kurapika would decide, _you know what, fuck this,_ and leave, and then Leorio would be awkward and late and alone and all dressed up and ready to go and _alone_.

Okay. Maybe he was still working his way through his six red bulls from the other night.

As anticipated, the crush of people out in the city were indeed holding up the subway lines, so Leorio arrived at his station at 9:45. It was a five-minute walk to Club Aurora. He marched off, thinking about how this night would go and hoping he didn’t make a fool of himself.

Leorio had told exactly four people that he was embarking upon this hare-brained scheme: Pietro, Carmelita, Azelio, and his mother. Their reactions ran the typical expected gamut.

Pietro said, _Well, hey, it’s not the most orthodox approach to a date, but it could be fun! Good luck, tell me how it goes!_

Carmelita said, _Are you insane? Just come to our party, Leo, I have about a dozen friends I’ve been trying to set you up with for years._

Azelio texted, _I knew I would tempt you to the dark side. Get lit bro._

(In a completely expected turn of events, Leorio later received a text from Azelio’s twin, Serena, offering her two cents: _I’m working the 3rd floor bar on nye, if you don’t come say hello I am going to find you and tell this holidate-whatever about the time you were trying to impress your crush via soccer and kicked the ball in his face and broke his nose. Tip well.)_

His mother said, _I don’t care how it starts, just find someone who makes you happy. If you’re still doing this dating-not dating thing this time next year, bring him to the family party._

None of them, save for Azelio, seemed to quite understand the whole _platonic_ part of this arrangement. But that was whatever. Because this was all it was going to be. One platonic outing with a stranger, and then they would part ways and never see each other again.

Leorio stopped outside the club, looking around for that familiar shock of blond hair. The pavement below him seemed to vibrate with the pounding bass coming from the four-story converted warehouse in front of him.

(He ignored the lurch in his gut at the thought of never seeing Kurapika again after tonight. The idea that he only had one chance with this. Whatever _this_ was.)

“Leorio.”

He turned towards the voice, too familiar with it after one meeting. He found the man leaning against the brick wall of the warehouse, phone in his hand, and – oh, no, okay, he was exactly as attractive as Leorio remembered. He approached the man, giving himself a moment to take in his close-fitting jeans, the dark jacket that brought out the midnight blue of his eyes, the way his hair was tied up into a half-bun that left stray bits of hair framing his face. The night wind blew and Leorio caught a glimpse of a silver stud in his left ear.

He looked good. _So_ good. Leorio wished he could tell him that. 

Then he realized. This was not a date. He was not going to see this man after tonight. So he could say pretty much whatever he wanted. He could be as blunt and straightforward as he wanted, because he already knew exactly where this was going to go. Absolutely nowhere.

“Kurapika,” he greeted. “You look hot.”

_Oh, shit, too blunt,_ Leorio thought, briefly panicking as Kurapika’s eyes went wide. But then Kurapika snorted out a laugh, ducking his head with a grin.

“Thanks,” he said. “You, too.”

_Oh shit, oh fuck, okay okay play it cool,_ Leorio told himself, which was something he did for all his platonic dates. “Think so?” He asked, tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “I’m glad. I was worried I looked too much like a hooligan or one of the Shark extras from _West Side Story.”_

“The musical reference does detract from that somewhat,” Kurapika mused. “In any case, I was more so getting a Danny Zuko from _Grease.”_

“You mock me for a musical reference and then make a musical reference,” Leorio complained.

“I was not _mocking_ you, I just meant – oh, forget it. Do you have the tickets?”

“Nope, let ‘em at home,” Leorio said, already reaching into an inner pocket. Kurapika did not look amused as he accepted the ticket Leorio handed him, and that made him snicker. But he led the way over to the door, where the bouncer took their tickets, checked their IDs (bless the man), and stamped their hands. At last they entered the club, which was…

_Insane_. There was a wide dance floor taking up the center of the first floor. Neon lights and glitter and glowsticks and spotlights and a light-up floor turned the place into a cacophony of sweaty bodies and sound and heat. All around the dance floor were bar tops, and as Leorio craned his neck back to look, he saw seating areas overlooking the dance floor. Each floor had its own bar, as well.

“Do you want to dance?” Leorio had to shout to be heard over the music. To his relief, Kurapika looked up at him with an expression of unabashed horror.

“Not under pain of death, to be honest.”

“Oh, thank god,” Leorio breathed. “In that case, c’mon. My sister works here and she said she’d make my life hell if I don’t say hi. And she’ll pour heavy.”

“Music to my ears,” Kurapika replied, and he followed Leorio up the stairs to the third floor. The music was quieter here, just enough that he no longer needed to shout to be heard. There were also fewer and fewer people as they climbed, taking them from “probable fire hazard” to “really fucking crowded.” Leorio used his superior height to crane his neck over the crowd, weaving a path to the bar and the familiar face. Serena stood behind the bar, twirling bottles of hard liquor that probably cost more than Leorio’s utility bill like a runway director. Her long hair was tied up in a ponytail, her face and arms covered in shimmering body glitter. She waterfalled a purple concoction into a martini glass and set it on a cocktail napkin with astounding steadiness and flourish. When she looked up, searching for her next client, she caught sight of Leorio and beamed ear to ear.

“LEO!” Serena bellowed. Leorio felt Kurapika stiffen slightly next to him, but he led the way over to the bar, leaning on it to grin at his sister. “You’re here!”

“I told you we’d make it,” he said.

“I know you did,” Serena said. She eyed Kurapika where he stood at Leorio’s side. “This him?”

“Yes,” Kurapika said. He leaned his elbows on the bar and sent Serena a small smile. “Kurapika.”

There was a slight stiffness to the set of his shoulders, something a little hesitant in his eyes. And Leorio realized, _oh. He’s shy._

It was incredibly endearing.

“Serena,” his sister was saying. She jerked her head in Leorio’s direction. “How much did he pay you for this date of yours?”

Leorio froze. Kurapika froze. They looked up at each other. Kurapika’s face was stone-cold and stoic as he glared up at Leorio. “Wait. I could have been getting _paid_ for this?”

Leorio actually _felt_ himself start sweating. He was nauseous, anxious, terrified. Then he caught the way Kurapika’s lips were twitching on one side as he fought back a smile.

“Oh,” Leorio realized aloud. “You’re an _asshole.”_

Kurapika _laughed_ at that, loud and surprised. His hair flashed pink and blue in the neon lights, and Leorio’s eyes followed the curve of his neck, down to his collarbones, down to the second button that parted to reveal soft pale skin and the hollow of his throat. He was stunning. Ethereal. Beautiful. He met Leorio’s gaze, and there was something dark and mischievous in his eyes.

Kurapika said, “I know.”

Oh. _Oh_. Leorio was _fucked_.

“Oh, my God.” Serena’s interruption made Leorio realize that he had forgotten his sister was right in front of him. When he looked back at her, it was to see her beaming knowingly. Her eyes were alight with unmitigated joy and the Cain Instinct and Leorio was positive she had somehow already texted the sibling group chat.

Then, to make matters worse, Serena turned that smirk to Kurapika. She pointed at him and announced, “I like him. What d’you want to drink?”

Kurapika blinked, looking taken aback but pleasantly surprised. “I… thank you. You seem talented. Would you surprise me?”

Serena looked back at Leorio. Her smile was, if possible, even wider. Her left cheek was showing off the dimple she shared with him, Azelio, and Emilio. “I _really_ like him. Leo, the usual?”

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Leorio found himself saying, to his own surprise. Kurapika looked up at him, eyes wide.

“I thought you preferred beer.”

Leorio shoved away the rush he felt at the realization that Kurapika remembered literally anything about him. That he remembered anything about him from their ridiculous first meeting. He shrugged, saying, “It’s a special occasion. Also it’s an open bar, so.”

“This motherfucker’s _open?”_ Kurapika yelled. Serena cackled.

“I’m already making it a double.”

“You really did party once,” Leorio observed. Kurapika snorted.

“Something they never talk about is how law school is party school central. Or, well, if it’s not _party_ central, it’s _drink to cope_ central. And I was never like _that_ , but I’ve been dragged to my fair share of parties by my brothers.”

Serena arrived with their drinks: two glasses of something cold and bubbly, the colors shifting from yellow-white on top to dark blue on the bottom. Garnished with an orange, pineapple, and cherry, the highball glasses looked Instagram-ready. 

“Thanks, Serena!” Leorio cried. He took his glass and glanced down at Kurapika. “Want to find a seat?”

Kurapika took his glass and smirked up at him. “You just don’t want me getting along better with your sister than with you.”

“Damn right I don’t,” Leorio agreed. He started making his way to one of the booths that overlooked the dance floor three stories below. “I know when I’m outnumbered.”

“Well, so long as you know.” Kurapika got into the booth and took a long sip of his drink. “Oh, this is excellent.”

“Yeah?” Leorio sipped his own drink. It was like a sparkling blue lemonade, far more tart than he was expecting. It was a pleasant surprise. He looked up to reply, only to see Kurapika eating the orange in his garnish. He looked out over the dance floor, licking the lingering orange juice from his lips. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Leorio wondered, _what are you doing here with me?_

They each set their glasses down on the table at the same time. Leorio stared at Kurapika. Kurapika stared back at Leorio. He tried to rack his brain, thinking of conversation topics that he looked up earlier that day, but all he could think about was gruesome and/or hilarious ER room stories. And those stories were pretty hit or miss (often, miss) with dates.

Kurapika finally spoke. “This is awkward.”

Leorio’s stomach lurched. “Yeah,” he agreed helplessly. “I’m sorry.”

“What? No, I meant – it’s fine. We’re still strangers, basically,” Kurapika said. He blew out a puff of air, making his bangs float up. “Just… stating the facts of the case. Lawyer thing. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just an observation.”

“We can lean into the awkwardness,” Leorio suggested. “Talk about our worst dates. Most embarrassing subjects. Worst test scores.”

Kurapika lifted an eyebrow at that last one. “Worst test scores?”

“Seemed like a thing you’d remember,” Leorio replied with a shrug. He was rewarded with an offended gasp.

“How _dare_ you,” Kurapika said, aghast. “I’ll have you know I’ve never earned lower than a ninety-five in my life.”

“Nerd,” Leorio said.

“Shut up.”

“A nerd and a narc.”

“I am not a narc!” Kurapika cried. But he was laughing as he said it, so Leorio figured he was safe. He watched until Kurapika’s peals of laughter faded away, thinking. _Lean into the awkwardness,_ indeed.

“So, I’ve got a question,” he announced. He took another long sip of his drink. Serena had poured heavy; already he could feel the warmth of the alcohol radiating into his fingers.

“I’ll answer unless I don’t want to,” Kurapika stated, which made Leorio snort. 

“Yeah, that’s how court works, right?” he asked. Kurapika scrunched up his face like he was thinking about it, and Leorio plowed on. “Anyway. Why did you take me up on my offer?”

Kurapika frowned into his glass. Then, to Leorio’s surprise, he flagged down one of the passing waiters and asked for two shots. “We need more booze for this,” he said by way of explanation, and Leorio simply agreed. The vodka burned as it went down, confirming his suspicions that it was probably well vodka, and watered-down at that. Across from him, Kurapika screwed up his face against the taste.

“You look miserable,” Leorio teased. Kurapika rolled his eyes.

“I hate vodka. Anyway.” He sipped his cocktail to get the taste out of his mouth. “I found out my brothers _and my parents_ have an _annual bet_ wherein they wonder where I’ll be hiding to get my work done every year. Not to mention my brothers also got me that hideous robe. It’s like they think I’ll be a lonely, miserable hermit for the rest of my life.”

“Why do you work during those parties, then?” Leorio asked. He could see that this problem clearly had an obvious solution, and he had no doubt Kurapika saw it, too. So he trusted there was a reason for this stranger to hide away in his own house to work.

Kurapika’s eyes had narrowed slightly at the question, but as he met Leorio’s gaze, he seemed to catch on to Leorio’s train of thought. His mouth softened. 

“I take on a lot of cases. Sure, they get assigned to us by the Chief Prosecutor, but there are enough cases in our office that we’re given a certain amount of leeway with our caseload. And I… tend to take on the maximum number of cases we’re allowed to have. Like, all the time. And I work directly with Chief Prosecutor Mizaistom, so the cases that are sent up to our office are generally… gritty ones. Ones that get a lot of attention. Or ones that are grim. Or both.” Kurapika sipped more of his drink. “And I feel like I’m wasting taxpayer dollars or letting down the families of the people hurt if I take a break. Even on the holidays. _Especially_ on the holidays, actually.”

“Why don’t you tell them that, then?” Leorio asked. “That sounds reasonable. I mean, probably something to talk to a therapist about, but reasonable.”

Kurapika flicked his orange rind at him. “Because the work I do is so miserable. I don’t want to burden my family with it. What can I do, say ‘hey, Pairo, Altair, sorry for stepping out during _The Grinch_ , I need to have a quick discussion about this deposition with a witness in my arson-murder case before my meeting with the victim’s wife and daughter on Wednesday?’”

“It’s a start,” Leorio said. He sipped his drink, looking out over the dance floor. This was not where he thought the conversation would go on their little holidate. These were topics he didn’t broach with potential partners until at least dates four or five. But Leorio found himself agreeing, “That makes sense. Everyone asks me if I have ‘good ER stories’ when I mention what I do. They’re thinking of those cheesy medical dramas or docuseries, I’m sure. But like. The ER isn’t a playground. Yeah, sometimes I get funny cases, and they’re _hysterical_. And I’m happy to share those stories. But a lot of my cases are just. Hard. Between people worrying about insurance, and people being too scared or too sick or too young to tell me what’s wrong, to tests not being conclusive so I don’t know how to help, to people who come in too far gone for us to do anything but call time when they hit our door.”

“Why do you do it, then?” Kurapika asked. He settled his chin in his hand, eyeing Leorio curiously. The lights flickered in his eyes. Leorio looked away, out onto the dance floor.

“Because I love it.” This answer came with no hesitation. “Because I love to help people, because I’m good in a crisis and I have steady hands, because I care. And I know I have it in me to look a person in the eye on the worst day of their life and tell them I’m gonna help them through it.”

Leorio glanced at Kurapika, caught the odd look on his face. Leorio felt himself go red, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Ah. Sorry. That sounded kind of douchey.”

“I think it’s admirable,” Kurapika said, and Leorio felt like steam was about to come out of his ears from how quickly he felt his face go hot. “And I think you would get along with Altair very well.”

“Altair is your brother?” Leorio asked.

“Yes,” Kurapika said. “Well, brother-in-law. He’s married to Pairo, who is my actual brother. Well, adopted brother.”

“Brother,” Leorio agreed. Kurapika blinked at him for another moment, looking almost surprised. Then he nodded slightly.

“Brother,” he agreed. “But I digress. What happened to _you_ on _your_ holiday that led to you in that Brooks Brothers line, asking me to a New Year’s Eve party?”

“Technically, I didn’t ask you until we were outside,” Leorio pointed out.

“And you call _me_ pedantic.” Kurapika rolled his eyes. “So, what happened?”

Leorio snorted. “I’ll summarize. First, my best friend had no fewer than four freak-outs over proposing to my sister. Then my mother caught me spiking my hot chocolate. Then my brother told me all about his holidate with the _mall santa.”_

Kurapika snickered. “Ah. I wondered if this was your idea.”

“How dare you. It wasn’t. Then I got re-gifted a pair of pajamas I gave _last year._ Finally, my sister got engaged.” Leorio finished his drink. “Oh, and just assume throughout this, I’m being harassed and questioned about why and how I’m still single.”

“Me, too!” Kurapika cried. He finished his drink as well, condensation from the glass rolling onto the table. “All the time!”

“It’s exhausting,” Leorio said.

“Maddening,” Kurapika agreed.

“Annoying,” Leorio added.

“This isn’t a competition,” Kurapika frowned. “Just give me the last word.”

“Of course it’s not a competition,” Leorio said. “So long as you let me win.”

And Kurapika glared at him for that, lips twitching, and then he threw back his head and laughed. His hair fluttered around his face, catching in the lights, and before he could stop himself, Leorio asked: “Do you want to give dancing a go?”

He remembered Kurapika’s words earlier in the night when asked that question: _not under pain of death_. But a shot and a double drink in about half an hour’s time seemed to change his mind, because he frowned thoughtfully for a moment, biting his lower lip thoughtfully, and then he stood up in the walkway. He held out a hand, a roguish grin on his mouth.

“I think we can give it the old college try.”

~

Kurapika could not remember the last time he laughed this much.

This loudly. This freely. This thoughtlessly.

He could not remember the last time he had this much _reason_ to laugh.

And it was all because of the man across from him. Or in front of him. Taking his hand and following him onto a dance floor that he never, ever would have thought he would willingly step on, because he hated dancing and people looking at him. But when Leorio did it – when Leorio was next to him – it didn’t seem so bad.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking. Or his exhaustion. Or the fact that this holidate meant that they had no expectations, that there was no fear of commitment, that there was no lasting impression to stress over.

But Kurapika was positive it was just the man who invited him here. The man whose banter kept making him laugh, whose eyes and smile kept making him lose track of his thoughts, who wore his kindness and confidence and brilliance like a scarf, who looked good enough to eat in those jeans and v-necked shirt and leather jacket. The doctor he met in the check-out line, who Kurapika thought was strange and attractive and annoying, and he was so much more than that.

He was stunning, funny, kind. It was clear his sister adored him, and Kurapika had no doubt that extended to the rest of his siblings and family. His hand felt right in Kurapika’s as he led the way onto the dance floor – not just good, _right_ , and warm, and they rarely touched as they danced except for goofy spins and to tug each other out of the way of especially intoxicated or exuberant dancers. Short, glancing touches, on the hand or back or shoulders, always respectful, never lingering or suggestive. And Leorio was not a _good_ dancer, but he was _fun_ , and Kurapika found himself dropping his defenses and relaxing for once and having fun right along with him.

(Kurapika could not remember the last time he had fun like this, either. He wondered if this strange New Year’s Eve magic would last into the next time they met, before he quickly shut down that train of thought with the brutal reminder that there would _be_ no next time.)

They tired out after several songs, and Kurapika was getting sick of being jostled around and having his feet stomped on, so Leorio caught his hand to pull him off the dance floor and lead him back upstairs to the third floor. This time Serena, smirking knowingly at her brother with an expression that seemed universal among younger siblings. Kurapika did not bother to parse the silent conversation Leorio shared with his sister, but he did notice that when her back was turned, he slipped a twenty into the tip jar.

Kurapika glanced down, biting his lip and trying to quell the wave of fondness in his chest. He slipped in his own tip when Leorio’s back was turned.

Serena gave them another mystery mixed drink, this time something neon pink in a sugar-rimmed martini glass. They found the same booth as before, overlooking the rest of the club, and Kurapika took a long sip of hid drink. It tasted like fruit and sugar and red bull and vodka. Leorio took a sip and made a face.

“Oh, I can taste the red bull in this. I think my body might revolt.”

“Can’t handle an energy drink?” Kurapika took another sip of his drink, his pinky out. “Whore.”

Leorio almost spat his drink out, cackling. “Shut _up!_ I’ll have you know I can handle my energy drinks just fine. In fact, I had six in a night just the other day.”

“Good God, _why?”_ Kurapika demanded. “They have warning labels for a reason. I know because I’ve checked.”

“For fun?”

“And profit.”

“Naturally.” Leorio nodded sagely. “And it was because we had a three car pileup in the ER, so I was on my feet for pretty much the entire shift.”

“Oh, shit,” Kurapika said. He tried to picture this man running around an ER for twelve hours, stoic and serious and calm and kind and patient, hiding his exhaustion as the shift wore on so that he could keep up a good face, chugging an illegal amount of caffeine so that he didn’t flag and miss something. Another curl of fondness flickered in his chest, and he sipped his drink to try and chase it away.

“I always wondered,” Leorio said, apropos of nothing. “What’s it like to be a lawyer? I bounced around ideas of what I wanted to be when I grew up, but funnily enough, I never wanted to be a lawyer.”

“What did you want to be, then?” Kurapika asked. “I always knew this was what I wanted to do.”

“Nerd,” Leorio said. There was an affectionate lilt to the tease that made Kurapika’s cheeks heat. “And, I dunno. All the jobs kids want to do. Pilot, superhero, vet, chef, fireman.”

Kurapika pictured Leorio in a fireman’s outfit – the boots, the loose pants, the tight-fitting shirts, the suspenders – and nearly combusted. How did this man exist? How was he real? Why was he here with _Kurapika_ , of all people? He could imagine how his colleagues and patients saw him. Hell, he saw how the people in this _club_ all looked at him. And Leorio had only looked at him, paid attention to him, all night.

There was no way this man was single except by choice.

Then he remembered Leorio was asking him a question. “I always wanted to be a lawyer. I wanted to help people. I wanted to keep people safe, and healthy, and change our laws that punish rather than help people.”

Leorio lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes!” Kurapika cried. He knew he was about to just utterly geek out now about law and policy and social stigmas and systemic legal problems, but this was a platonic date, so he could be as much of an academic nerd as he wanted and not care, because he was not going to see Leorio again after this. 

Never mind that Leorio actually looked _intrigued_ , head tilted and eyes wide and interested, and he listened attentively as Kurapika folded his legs under him into the shape of a pretzel and rambled on, hands flying to illustrate his points. For years Pairo mocked Kurapika for his tendency to start rambling about The Law to anyone who will listen once he ingested a drop of alcohol and was asked approximately three questions about work, but there was no judgement in Leorio’s face.

So Kurapika explained all the work that went on behind the scenes, all the effort he put into implementing restorative justice practices like marginalized cultures had practiced for centuries, and their drug court, and human trafficking court, and how hard he pushed to make even those changes, because “why would we demand people plead guilty to access these support services, only to clear their records once they go through the treatment programs? That’s two steps we can just remove like that.”

“I agree,” Leorio said. His body position had changed over the course of this conversation, shifting from leaning back against the booth to leaning forward across the table, body weight braced on his elbows. A smile was playing at his mouth as he said, “I guess you’re not such a narc, after all.”

“Thank you!” Kurapika half-shouted. “Because I’m not! I don’t practice law because I love punishing people, or even because I think the prison industrial sus- _sys_ tem is designed to punish the poor, and I hate that. And, and that’s not what our taxes are for! That’s not what I’m paid for! I’m paid to be a public servant. A servant to the public. So I try to help.”

“Exactly!” Leorio said, slapping his palm onto the table. “That’s why I practice medicine. Because the number of people I knew growing up who went without medical care because of the cost was _so many_. I just want to help people.”

“Yes!” Kurapika shouted.

“Yeah!” Leorio agreed. Kurapika was not sure what he was agreeing to, exactly. Leorio was just a good, kind man who wanted to help. “Like, fuck the system. I hate that bastard.”

“Did you just anthropomorphize the legal system?” Kurapika asked. “Like, the whole thing?”

“Yeah,” Leorio said.

“Cool. Like, I hate the system, but I want to work within it to make that change. It’s not perfect. And sometimes I wonder if I’m part of the problem? But there are lots of ways to change the system. Or topple it. Whatever. If I die in the revolution, so be it.”

“Christ, Kurapika,” Leorio gasped, choking on his drink with a sputtering laugh. He used his cocktail napkin to mop up his chin. “That got dark.”

“Anyway,” Kurapika sipped more of his drink. “We should probably have water. Or snacks. Do they serve fries here? I’d kill for a plate of fries.”

“You can’t say that,” Leorio said. “You’re a lawyer.”

“Bite me.” Kurapika peered around the room. Leorio shook his head.

“I’ll ask my sister and get us some water. Be right back.” He wiggled out of the booth and got to his feet, staggering slightly. Kurapika allowed himself one parting glance at his ass as he walked away. Hot damn. He was _so_ fine.

Kurapika slipped his phone out of his pocket to glance at the time. The screen read _11:15pm_. There was less than an hour until midnight (obviously. He could do math). He wondered: would they be parting ways at exactly midnight? Would this weird spell of friendship and one-sided thirst be broken when the clock struck twelve and the year changed? Would Leorio look down at him, shake his hand like this was a business transaction, and say, _thanks for the date, have a nice life?_

Probably. Most likely. Yes. Of course he would. Why wouldn’t he? That was exactly what they had agreed to. It was contract law 101. The kind of stuff baby 1-L students took and were like, _well, yeah, that’s obvious._ Write the contract, sign the agreement, follow it. Life and business by the book. This was supposed to be easy. But that was the problem, Kurapika thought, eyeing the breadth of Leorio’s back. This _was_ easy. It was _too_ easy. It was easy and light and fun and it was the best date Kurapika had ever been on, and it wasn’t even a date. It was, in fact, emphatically and specifically _not a date_.

A flashing neon sign screaming _breach of contract_ lit up in Kurapika’s head, and it took a lot of self-control not to hit his own head onto the table. Maybe he was an idiot.

“Here.” Leorio reappeared, sliding a glass of water to Kurapika and settling it down in front of him. “And I ordered fries.”

“Loaded?”

“Like a canon.”

“Fuck yes.”

Leorio’s laugh was like champagne: shining and sharp and filling up Kurapika’s chest like bubbles. How was he so beautiful. How did he look like that. How was it fair.

How long had Kurapika been on his own? Long enough that he was halfway gone after one and a half meetings with the man.

_The contract,_ Kurapika reminded himself. _Remember the contract._

_Shit like this is why you’re still single and doing this holidate bullshit,_ Kurapika’s voice of reason made sure to mention. _Thinking things like “remember the contract” when there is no contract. Just a verbal agreement. Which is valid in some situations but not all._

“You okay, Kurapika?”

He realized he had zoned out, and he made himself smile and down some of his water. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

Leorio nodded, understanding. He looked around, saying, “I’m trying to count the number of couples getting engaged at midnight.”

Kurapika perked up at the idea of petty people watching. He peered around, sipping his water with his straw and eyeing their fellow partygoers. He jerked his chin to the couple in the corner. “Them.”

“Easy,” Leorio said right away. “He’s been patting at his pocket for the past three minutes.”

“Maybe he lost it and he’s trying not to lose his mind,” Kurapika suggested.

“Holy shit,” Leorio breathed. “Wait, Kurapika, I think he _did_.”

Kurapika frowned, looking at the couple. The one they were gently mocking had eyes that had gone wide like saucers, visibly starting to sweat. His date gently took his arm, looking sweetly worried, purple hair shining in the light. The man shook his head and pointed vaguely in the direction of the restroom.

Kurapika met Leorio’s gaze. Then, he took two shots from a passing tray, indicating for Leorio to get his own as he marched off. He sensed Leorio following him as Kurapika marched into the bathroom and saw the man leaning on the bathroom counter, looking about two seconds away from a total breakdown.

“You,” Kurapika said by way of greeting. He shoved it in the man’s direction. “Drink this.”

The man blinked, staring down at the clear liquid. He accepted it with shaking fingers. “Wh-What is it?”

“No idea. Hang on.” Kurapika threw back the shot, barely blinking. He grimaced. “Tequila.”

“Oh. Huh,” the man said. He closed his eyes, pinched his nose, and threw back the drink. In the bathroom mirror, Leorio did the same. Kurapika saw the way the sweat lining his throat gleaming in the lights, and he tore his hungry gaze away.

“Alright,” Kurapika said. “I’m Kurapika, and that’s Leorio. And you are?”

“Knuckle,” the man said. “My name’s Knuckle.”

“A pleasure,” Kurapika said. “And you lost your engagement ring, right?”

Knuckle’s mouth dropped open. “I – you – how can you tell?” Before Kurapika could try and say, _my platonic holidate and I were people-watching and you were not being subtle about your impending freak-out_ , Knuckle started to cry.

“I’m the worst!” He wailed. “I’ve wanted to propose to Shoot for months! And I’ve had it all planned out! We met on New Year’s Eve at a party, I was delivering pizza and Shoot opened the door, and it was love at first sight, I was scared I’d never see him again but he –”

“Adorable,” Kurapika interrupted, trying to strike a balance between gentle and brusque. “Look. We’re gonna help you find the ring.”

“You are?” Knuckle said.

“We are?” Leorio added. “Uh. We are.”

“Really?” Knuckle’s lip wobbled. Then, the stress and intoxication seemed to bubble over, and he started crying. “That’s _amazing!_ You two are _so nice!_ Such couple goals.”

“Oh –”

“Uh –”

Knuckle was crying too hard to notice their hesitation, throwing his arms around their shoulders. Kurapika stiffened reflexively, but Leorio caught his bulk and patted him gently on the back.

“There, there,” he soothed. “It’s okay. We’ve got you. We’ll help. Tell us what it looks like, and we’ll hunt for it.”

“And where you’ve been,” Kurapika added. “Anything you can tell will be helpful.”

Knuckle sniffled loudly. Then he told them the story of his night with Shoot, starting at the fourth-floor bar, moving to the dance floor, and then returning to the third floor when they tired. Which was a lot of ground to cover, and it did not help that the box was small and midnight-blue velvet and maybe eight square inches. He pulled out his phone to show them the ring they were looking for, as if there might be another lost engagement ring hanging out in this club. The ring was titanium and meteorite, rustic and masculine and shiny and probably super easy to see if it wasn’t in a _tiny box._

“Go back to your partner,” Leorio assured Knuckle while Kurapika started to think up a plan. “We’ll take care of this.”

Knuckle nodded, sniffling loudly and blowing his nose on the way out. Kurapika peered up at Leorio, watching the way he met his eye and folded his arms over his chest.

“Sorry,” Kurapika said sheepishly. Leorio blinked down at him.

“What? Why?”

“For dragging you into this,” Kurapika said quickly. “I didn’t really think, I just –”

“Hey, I’m down for this,” Leorio interrupted. He grinned widely. “A New Year’s Eve scavenger hunt for love? Best date ever.”

_Date_. Not _holidate_. Kurapika’s tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. Before he could say anything, he caught Kurapika’s arm and pulled him off to start looking. Leorio was saying, “Besides, I was thinking, ‘damn, I wish I could help,’ but I wasn’t sure how. And then you grabbed me and followed him and promised this, like, total stranger you’d help him? I think that was super cool of you. How long do we have?”

Kurapika swallowed his fluttering nerves and checked his watch. “We have thirty-three minutes.”

“Fuck!” Leorio yelled cheerfully. “Alright, then! Let’s go!” He slapped at his cheek with his free hand. “Oh, that last shot might have been a mistake.”

“Sorry,” Kurapika repeated.

“Stop that,” Leorio said. They came out on the fourth floor landing. Instead of dropping Kurapika’s arm, he kept his hand held tightly in his. He stood directly in front of Kurapika, almost toe-to-toe, meeting his gaze. His eyes sparkled in the neon lights ricocheting around the club. “We’re in this together. No holidate left behind.”

_Ah, there it is,_ Kurapika thought. He tasted bitterness on his tongue mingling with the lingering taste of vodka. Ridiculous. Vile. He put a smile on his face and turned his mind to the task at hand. Leorio went to search the ground and the tables while Kurapika approached the bartender to ask if they had seen a missing engagement ring. They frowned at him, pink eyes screwing up in concentration as they thought and rattled something in their shaker. There was something oddly familiar about them, but Kurapika could not put his finger on it at the moment.

“An _engagement ring?”_ They repeated, snorting. And Kurapika’s nod, they scoffed. “Shit. Poor dude. I’d remember something like that. You can check the main bar down below, my sister’s working there. Ask for Alluka. If anything’s been turned in, she’ll know.”

“Great, thanks,” Kurapika said. He turned to Leorio. “We’re going down.”

“I’m yelling timber,” Leorio said automatically, making Kurapika snort.

“Okay. C’mon, we can check the first floor bar, and then the dance floor, and then we can make our way back up to the third floor. We have…” Kurapika checked his watch. “... Twenty-five minutes.”

“Let’s go, then!” Leorio cried, and he took his elbow and rushed off to the stairs again. They rushed down the flights of stairs, dodging stumbling drunks and couples making out, finally reemerging onto the dance floor. It took them some time to wiggle across the floor, making their way to the bar. Kurapika relied on Leorio’s size to part the way, sticking close enough that he could feel Leorio’s body heat. They arrived at the main bar, wiggling their way through the crowd to lean against the sticky vinyl top. Neon tube lights flashed under the bar and behind the rows of liquor, flickering and refracting the light over the glass bottles.

A pretty bartender with blue eyes and long, dark hair beamed at them. “What can I get you?”

“We’re looking for Alluka?” Kurapika had to shout over the music. “The bartender on the fourth floor sent us. We’re looking for something.”

“Oh, sure!” The bartender said. “Give me just a few minutes.”

_We don’t really have a few minutes,_ Kurapika thought, but he could not say that to this pleasant bartender. He stood stock-straight, his nails anxiously drumming over the table. Leorio leaned on the table next to him, gently knocking his shoulder next to his.

“It’ll be okay.” Leorio was not yelling to be heard, but somehow Kurapika heard him anyway. His arm was a warm, comforting weight against his.

“How can you be so confident?” Kurapika asked.

Leorio grinned at him. “Because we’re a good team, I think.”

Kurapika swallowed thickly. The neon lights changed, shifting to pink. “I think so, too.”

Leorio did not reply right away. Those stunning eyes were tracing his face, looking at something Kurapika could not fathom. He observed, “You have freckles on your nose.”

Kurapika blinked, surprised. He _did_ , but they were small and fine and rarely remarked upon. He did not hate them, nor was he embarrassed of them. But he did not think about them, or think they were worth remarking upon. He opened his mouth to reply, to say _something_ (to say what? _I know? Your dimple has driven me insane all night?),_ but they were interrupted by a cheerful voice.

“Hello, hello! I hear I’m being looked for?”

Kurapika turned to the voice, blinking himself back to reality. The young woman dressed in a bright pink, sleeveless hoodie with her hair tied up into a ponytail behind her head also looked deeply familiar.

“Aren’t you the DJ?” Kurapika asked. Leorio elbowed him in the side for his stupid question. Because, again, they were working on a limited time table. But the woman only laughed.

“Nope! That’s my sister, actually. I handle the bar. I get that all the time. But I’m told you’re looking for something?”

“Yeah,” Leorio said. He quickly and concisely explained the situation, something Kurapika guessed he did a lot at work. After describing the ring in impressive detail, he asked, “Does that sound like something anyone brought in?”

Alluka frowned, thinking. “I don’t think so. I would have remembered, and we definitely would have made a comment over the loudspeakers if we found something like that, especially on a night like tonight. But I’ll go to our back room just to be sure. Wait here!”

As if they were going anywhere. Kurapika sighed, checking his phone. It was ten till.

“What if we don’t find the ring?” Kurapika wondered aloud.

Leorio shrugged. “Then Knuckle asks Shoot to marry him anyway.”

“And sink the ring cost?”

“Why not?” Leorio asked. “The ring isn’t why Knuckle’s asking. The ring won’t be why Shoot says yes.”

“You didn’t strike me as a romantic,” Kurapika said.

“You didn’t strike _me_ as a cynic,” Leorio replied. He met Kurapika’s eye, his expression inscrutable. Kurapika made himself huff out a half-hearted chuckle.

“Really? The lawyer didn’t strike you as a cynic?”

“No,” Leorio repeated. Taken aback, Kurapika dropped the smile. He met Leorio’s eye, too direct and focused for a man who had ingested as much alcohol as he had.

“I’m not a cynic,” Kurapika confessed, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve just… not been very lucky in that department, I suppose.”

“Heh.” Leorio’s smile was sharp. “Me, neither.”

Kurapika wanted to say, _yes, hence why you’re here,_ or something like, _I find that literally unbelievable, and it is taking considerable self-control not to jump you right now._ But then Leorio shrugged and said, “Maybe that’ll change this year, though.”

And Kurapika’s mind screeched to a halt. Because of course it would change this year. If Leorio wanted to date, he would date, because there was no way a man like him did not actually have admirers lined up out the door for him. And Kurapika would fade into a distant memory of that one lawyer he met in a checkout line so desperate he agreed to be his _holidate_. And they would never see each other again and Kurapika would return to his admittedly great job and good life and be so, _so lonely_.

But that was not their agreement, so Kurapika just smiled at him and agreed, “I hope so.”

Before Leorio could say anything, Alluka popped back up from behind the bar, panting. “Wait, wait! I think we’ve got it! Someone found this on the dance floor and just turned it in!”

Leorio and Kurapika gaped at each other; another moment later, they nearly dove across the bar to grab at the small box in Alluka’s hand. Kurapika took it and flipped open the lid. Nestled gently in the velvet interior was a silvery ring. The blue and green neon lights made it sparkle and glow. Kurapika looked up from the ring to beam at Leorio.

“This is it,” he breathed. “This is it! Come on!”

He caught Leorio’s hand and started to drag him to the stairs, shouting his thanks at Alluka over his shoulder as he went. Leorio was laughing in his ear, tipsy and delighted, chasing Kurapika’s heels as they bounded up three flights of stairs. They definitely looked like the disasters they were, intoxicated and laughing and stumbling, but their noise and haste parted the crowds for them as they tried to beat the clock as the two-minute countdown to midnight began. Kurapika gripped the handrail to keep himself upright as he ran around the corner, leaping out onto the third floor landing and rushing for the spot where they last saw Knuckle and Shoot.

Knuckle caught his eye and immediately excused himself from his partner and friend group.

“We found it,” Leorio said in a rush as Kurapika thrust the box out towards him. 

Knuckle’s mouth fell open as he gingerly accepted the box. He slowly opened it, his mouth falling open and his free hand going to his mouth to stifle his breathless, relieved sobs.

“How did you,” Knuckle wept. “You _found_ it – I can’t – _how – thank you_ – I can’t _believe –”_

“Enough!” Kurapika ordered. He caught Knuckle’s shoulders and spun him around. “Go! Propose! Smooch! Get your happily ever after!”

“But –”

“Go!” Kurapika and Leorio shouted in tandem over Knuckle’s protestations. Kurapika pushed him towards his now extremely confused but slightly amused partner, a slender purple-haired man who seemed used to the Knuckle-induced shenanigans. Leorio carefully tugged Kurapika to the railing to get out of the walkway, though he made sure they still had a prime stop from which to view the happy couple and the sea of people below them. They found themselves next to a cooling mess of fries, and they started to dig in. The melted cheese and bacon would have been a lot tastier twenty minutes ago, but Kurapika was too tipsy and high on adrenaline to care. He suspected Leorio felt the same.

“That was a good thing you did,” Leorio said to Kurapika. He shrugged, tucking a bit of hair behind his right ear.

“You would have done the same, I think,” Kurapika demurred.

“Maybe,” Leorio conceded. “But I’m glad we did it together. Tonight has… you know, been pretty fun.”

Kurapika looked away from Leorio lest he see all the emotions swirling in his chest reflected in his eyes. Instead, he turned to Knuckle and Shoot, watching the former lean into his partner’s space and whispering loving words meant only for him.

“It has,” he agreed softly. 

At thirty seconds to midnight, Knuckle sank to one knee.

At fifteen, Shoot nodded, one hand over his mouth.

At ten, Knuckle slid the ring onto his fiancé’s finger.

At five seconds, the crowd on the third floor broke into applause. Leorio and Kurapika joined in as the club shouted the countdown around them.

At midnight exactly, the room exploded into a crashing wave of sound and color as cheers went up. Dozens of party poppers exploded around the room, creating new washes of sparkles and glitter and color. The neon lights flashed and shimmered, and hundreds of multi-colored balloons dropped from the ceiling. All of it was huge and amazing and overwhelming in the best way.

A few seconds after midnight, Kurapika felt a soft pair of lips press a dry, gentle kiss to his right cheekbone. He froze, his hand reflexively jerking up to touch the spot. He stared up at Leorio, eyes wide and questioning and amazed. Leorio was not meeting his gaze.

“Ah. For midnight. Felt weird not to do anything, with everyone else doing something. Not that I expect you to do anything.”

Kurapika blinked. “Ah. I see.”

He stared up at Leorio. He was standing farther away from Kurapika now than he had all night, leaving six careful inches of space between them. Kurapika stared at him, at this amazing man who blundered into his life, who took him out on the most amazing date-not-date of his life, who made him laugh and grin and talk forever and go on spontaneous adventures to recover strangers’ engagement rings and kissed him on the cheek at midnight with no expectations of a return. Who was friendly and polite and sweet and kind and funny and so, so, so handsome, and –

And Kurapika wished this was real. For just a second, he could really picture it. He wanted to ask Leorio out again, holidates be damned, and kiss him for real, and bring him to next year’s holiday dinner. Because Kurapika was tipsy and exhausted and lonely, but he was not an idiot. He knew himself and his feelings and he knew that he could really, _really_ like Leorio Paladiknight.

And Leorio glanced down at him. “Ready to head out?”

And the fantasy shattered.

~

Leorio braced his weight against the vertical bar of his subway car. His hand curled around the warm, slightly sticky bar ( _how_ were these things always weirdly _sticky?)_ _._ Heedless of his surroundings, Leorio allowed his forehead to rest on his hand.

He pulled out his phone. The screen read, _12:31am, January 1, 2021._

_That’s not a real year,_ Leorio thought, even though it was very much a real year. Indeed, it was now this yeah. _Fuck_.

There were dozens of messages in his sibling chat. With a sigh, Leorio unlocked his phone to read them.

_**Serena:** YALL HOLY SHIT I SAW LEO’S NYE DATE?? AND HE IS?? ADORABLE??  
**Serena:** leo is so fckn smitted omg  
**Serena:** * smitten lmao_

_**Azelio:** it’s a holidate! It’s platonic! Don’t besmirch my magnum opus with “feelings”_

_**Altea:** jfc azel shut up edgelord  
**Altea:** @Serena deets now_

_**Serena:** blond. normal height (so tiny next to leo lol). eyes?? he has em. unclear what color. VERY snarky. party boy._

_**Altea:** pics????_

_**Carmelita:** do NOT take pictures of him while you’re at work. fuck. that’s an immediate way to get yourself fired._

_**Altea:** o shit u rite_

_**Carmelita:** anyway it’s not necessary. he’s a DA.  
**Carmelita:** i looked him up_

And Carmelita decided to post a picture of Kurapika in the family group chat, which made Leorio almost groan aloud on this crowded, moving train. It did not help that she found an incredible shot of Kurapika mid-trial, his back straight and hands elegantly aloft in front of him, like he was conducting an orchestra. He wore a beautifully tailored grey suit, his hair shorter than it was tonight in this image, and he was so _handsome_ and _poised_ and _fuck_ , yeah, this was the only time he was going to ever see Kurapika again, wasn’t he? In the newspaper. The nightly news.

_You idiot,_ Leorio thought for the hundredth time since midnight. _You fool. You goddamn moron. You fucked up._

The chat carried on:

_**Altea:** holy shIT  
_ **_Altea:_ ** _he is HOT  
_ _**Altea:** @Leorio do NOT fuck this up_

_**Serena:** right??? he’s adorable??? and p fine ngl  
**Serena:** i’m dying rn fam  
**Serena:** leo is like. leaning ALL THE WAY OVER THE TABLE to talk to his date.  
**Serena:** he’s 5 seconds from climbing over the table i s2g_

_**Carmelita:** no pics  
**Carmelita:** and shouldn’t you be working???_

_**Serena:** break time babey  
**Serena:** OMG HE’S GETTING LEO TO GET UP AND DANCE  
**Serena:** THIS IS NOT A DRILL DANCING LEO ALERT_

_**Carmelita:** pics of THAT are expected_

_**Emilio:** holy shit_

_**Altea:** OMFG OF ALL THE NIGHTS TO TAKE OFF_

_**Serena:** ok ok they’re back  
**Serena:** oh leo is GONE over this guy  
**Serena:** leo don’t try and deny it when you see these  
**Serena:** you big softie  
**Serena:** your marshmallow center is oozing_

_**Emilio:** gross._

_**Altea:** but does dateboi seem into it???_

_**Carmelita:** i think his name’s kurapika_

_**Altea:** what kind of name is that?  
**Altea:** wait that sounded bad  
**Altea:** no offense i’m just curious bc it’s not a common name_

_**Emilio:** it’s a kurta name_

_**Altea:** oh rad_

_**Serena:** ok how do i answer that @altea  
**Serena:** bc do i think this adorable cutie is into leo??? yeah  
**Serena:** tho i’m positive leo does not think he’s into him. leo he IS do not FUCK this up.  
**Serena:** do i think he knows LEO is into him???  
**Serena:** no way  
**Serena:** he’s too dense & shy  
**Serena:** o shit g2g leo’s coming & i gotta work_

Leorio snickered softly. His siblings knew him well enough to know when he liked someone. And they were always biased to think in his favor. He would not even allow himself a few forlorn moments of wishful thinking about the what-ifs and maybes. This was a one-time thing. Totally platonic, totally noncommittal.

It was a one-time thing, and Leorio would fade into the memory of one of the most amazing men he had ever met. He didn’t want to forget any of it.

So Leorio tabbed over to his notes app on his phone. He thumbed through half-finished shopping lists and reminders to pay his bills to an untitled list. The one where he wrote all of the facts Kurapika told him on that day they met, when Leorio was positive that he would never see that magnetic man again.

So he added:

_Kurapika says he hates to dance, but he will if he’s drunk._

_Kurapika sticks out his pinky when he drinks._

_Kurapika always wanted to be a lawyer. He wants to help people._

_Kurapika thinks family is based on bond, not blood._

_Kurapika will go out of his way help a stranger._

_Kurapika’s laugh sounds like bells._

His phone buzzed, and he almost dropped it when he saw that familiar name. The text from Kurpaika read, _Made it home safe. Thanks for tonight._

Leorio read and re-read the message. Excitement and relief warred with disappointment in his chest. Which was ridiculous. Because that was the point of this. One platonic outing, and then they would go their separate ways.

_I had fun,_ Leorio typed out. That was too much, too open and honest. He backspaced and deleted the message. Instead, he sent, _No problem._

He saw the read receipt pop up almost immediately. Kurapika did not reply.

With a sigh, Leorio flicked back to his screen.

_Kurapika has freckles, but you have to be really close to see them. I won’t be that close again and that sucks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! happy new year! i send well-wishes, health, and happiness all your way. 💖
> 
> _bring a friend_ will return valentine's day!


	3. Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after nearly two months without contact, kurapika and leorio are definitely not feeling the valentine's day cheer.
> 
> CW for leorio's job, which features blood, medical examination, and injuries!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! hi! i made it for valentine's day! i'm so hype. i hope everyone has a wonderful, happy valentine's day, filled with all kinds of love. whether you're spending it with your partners, lovers, friends, or families, i hope you spend your day with people you care about and who care about you in return. romantic love is only one kind of way to put your love out into the world. 💖💖💖
> 
> ANYWAY, please enjoy! i hope this was worth the wait! you see the tag that says "idiots to lovers??????" we are RIDING that train.
> 
> also we have themes now, sorry.

“Killua, where is the Nostrade deposition?”

Killua did not look up from his phone. “Second pile from the left, third file down.”

Kurapika dug through the stack of manila folders to find exactly the papers he needed. “And the Tocino file?”

“Far right, fifth down.”

 _Like we’re playing fucking battleship,_ Kurapika thought, clenching his jaw in irritation. “You _could_ help me.”

Killua stayed right where he was. “Yeah.”

Kurapika drew himself to his full height, inhaling deeply through his nose and then slowly releasing it. The desire to throw his paperweight at Killua’s white head of curls finally passed. _“Killua.”_

The 3-L intern grinned impishly in the face of Kurapika’s most terrifying glower. Then he tucked his phone into his pocket and stood up to join him at his desk. The only thing more annoying about Killua’s glib attitude was his astonishing _capability_ , his brilliance and natural aptitude for criminal law. He was thorough, organized, logical, relentless. He was also a twenty-two year old law prodigy bastard resting on his laurels and the fact that his _father_ was the city commissioner and his _brother_ was an integral member of the mayor’s office.

But in a few moments Killua had sorted through the mess of files and produced the depositions and court documents that they needed. There was a knock on the door, and Kurapika swallowed a curse. District Attorney Mizaistom Nana poked his head into the office.

“Hello, gentlemen. Will you be joining us this morning?”

From anyone else, the question would have been the height of passive-aggression. But District Attorney Nana, who insisted his colleagues call him _Mizaistom_ or simply _Mizai_ , was an endlessly patient man with little ego. Where other lawyers Kurapika knew and worked with were egotistical asshats, Mizai was friendly and polite, if rigorous and intense. He was strong and steady as an ox, jumping in where he could and calling for help when he needed it. He was liberal in the way he doled out their caseloads, because he knew that in a city like Yorknew, there was no shortage of cases to clutter up their dockets. And he asked if they were coming to the meeting they were definitely late for because he _knew_ the job, and he _knew_ things came up, and he was overall a patient and considerate boss, and Kurapika kind of wanted to hit him most of the time. The exceptions were the moments Kurapika _really_ wanted to hit him. Like now.

“Yes,” Kurapika said. He nodded to Killua to follow him into the conference room. Killua hovered on his heels as Kurapika and Mizai led the way through the attorneys’ offices to attend their weekly case review meeting that could definitely be an email.

“Any plans this weekend, gentlemen?” Mizai asked, which struck Kurapika as odd. It was only Wednesday. Killua made an odd coughing sound, like he’d been about to snort loudly but then he remembered he was in front of two supervisors.

“My parents host some big annual charity gala for the hospital cardiology department,” Killua said. “Black tie, champagne, caviar, the whole deal. Familial attendance is required. I’m thinking of going missing.”

This time Kurapika coughed to hide his snicker. Annoying and insubordinate as Killua was, the kid was also damn _funny_.

“What about you, Mizai?” Killua asked, sticking his hands in his suit pockets. It was like he was _practicing_ his poor etiquette, just to irritate his parents. Kurapika would not be surprised if he was.

“I received an invitation to your family’s event, as well,” Mizai said. “My partner and I will likely stop by shortly before spending a quiet evening in.” He looked down at Kurapika, mismatched eyes keen. “And you?”

Of _course_ he’d noticed Kurapika’s silence and decided to probe. Ruthless prosecutor. Horrific man. Genuine friend. Which meant Kurapika was forced to confess, cheeks going pink, “I am afraid I am at a loss. What is this weekend?”

Mizai lifted an eyebrow at Kurapika, surprised. Killua did not bother stifling his snicker this time. Kurapika sent him a dirty look over his shoulder that promised retribution in the form of case briefs, motions, research, and paper cuts. Killua’s only reply was a catlike smirk.

Mizai, as usual, was the helpful one. “This weekend is Valentine’s Day, Kurapika.”

 _Ah_. Kurapika felt himself going red again, this time in dread and embarrassment. He’d been so busy focusing on work, the days flying by in a haze of court appearances and meetings with victims’ families, that he hadn’t realized the day barreling towards them. He’d seen the red, pink, and white displays everywhere he went and shoved his head in the sand. But with four days to go and his colleagues looking at him now, their expressions mingling surprise, amusement, and pity, there was nowhere to run.

Valentine’s Day. A holiday.

Kurapika’s steps briefly stuttered. He blinked and his brain played back snapshots like a skipping CD – a dance on a crowded, sticky vinyl floor. A hand on his back, his shoulder. Broad shoulders. A wide, wicked smile. Brilliant hazel eyes. Dry, soft lips pressing against his cheek.

“I have no plans,” Kurapika said. He ignored the thousand-pound weight of his phone in his inner breast pocket.

“Kinda worked that out when you didn’t know what this weekend was,” Killua muttered.

“Killua,” Mizai warned. His tone was less _do not fuck with him, I’ve seen him make mafiosos cry on the stand_ , and more _endlessly patient father tired of his teen sons bickering_. Killua sent Kurapika another mischievous grin and flitted off to sit on the far end of the table as they entered the conference room. There was a one hundred and ten percent chance he was going to spend the next three hours playing _Bubble Witch Saga_ under the table. Kurapika sent him a look that promised _double_ retribution, now, as soon as he figured out what that was.

These case review meetings were all long as hell and lethally boring. Kurapika would classify them as cruel and unusual punishment, and he made that argument to Mizai once when he was trying to get out of attending them (Mizai thought he was being _funny_ , which was frankly the most insulting part of that process). Even with Mizai’s accommodating, thorough leadership and the District Attorney’s office’s fascinating cases, it was all Kurapika could do not to fall asleep on the table between fellow ADAs Phinks and Pakunoda. As Hisoka started to explain his latest murder case with uncomfortable relish, Kurapika let himself zone out, his eyes glazing over.

Kurapika thought he had done well putting his holiday-date thing behind him. As long as he kept his mind occupied and his schedule full from dawn till dusk (and well after), he did not think about New Year’s Eve.

It was only in the minutes before Kurapika fell asleep that he let himself think about Leorio. He would lay in the middle of his giant bed, limbs splayed out like a starfish and still not touching the four corners, and wonder what life might be like with more than his heated blanket to warm him. He wondered what might have happened if he’d just _opened his mouth_ only three seconds earlier. He wondered how long he would keep kicking himself for not saying anything.

He stared at the blank white ceiling and wondered how Leorio was doing with his studies and his residency, if he was still working too much, if he was still drinking too much caffeine and sleeping too little, if he had anyone to talk to about his difficult patients and his terrible days. He wondered if his siblings had set him up with someone else, or if he’d given one of those dating apps a try, or if he’d even needed to. A profile never appeared on the few occasions Pairo and Altair hung out with him and made him actually open the dating apps he’d essentially abandoned, sick of his bored, subtle moping.

It was embarrassing, the number of times Kurapika opened his phone just to stare at his last text exchange with Leorio. Their messages were so short and succinct, completely different from the friendly atmosphere they shared at the party. Sometimes, Kurapika wondered if he just imagined that strange connection he felt with Leorio that night.

_(Made it home safe. Thanks for tonight._

_No problem.)_

It was embarrassing, the number of times Kurapika did a double-take in public when a tall, svelte man passed him.

It was embarrassing, how often Kurapika stared up at the ceiling and wondered if Leorio Paladiknight, MD, was wondering about him, too.

~

“– Thirty-three year old male, warehouse accident, a stack of shelving approximately twelve feet tall fell over on him, crush injuries to the abdomen and pelvis,” The paramedic rattled off to Leorio as the ambulance doors swung open. “Looks like he fractured the left and right tibia. We pushed five of morphine in the field.”

“Thanks, Shizuku, we’ve got it from here,” Leorio said, catching the gurney railings and already wheeling the groaning man into the emergency department. Almost immediately, Machi started driving the ambulance away to its next call. To the patient, Leorio asked, “What’s your name, sir?”

“Alexio,” the man groaned. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, his jaw clenched. He was going to grind his teeth to the gum in addition to all of the more immediate, life-threatening injuries.

“Alright, Alexio,” Leorio greeted calmly, even as he rushed the gurney into the emergency room’s center stage. “My name is Leo, and I’m going to take good care of you. Can you tell me where it hurts the most?”

“‘M stomach,” Alexio hissed. “Legs aren’t doing too hot, either, though –”

Leorio nodded, using scissors to cut the shirt up the middle. He bit his lip to stop himself from swearing as he took in Alexio’s abdomen, a mottled mess of purple and red bruises. He palpated the region and felt where the skin was firm and distended from the blood.

“Okay, Gon, I want a sixteen-gauge IV, run it wide open – Zushi, where is that ultrasound – thanks – okay,” Leorio said, accepting the wand the nurse handed him and running it over the man’s belly. He frowned at the grainy image on the ultrasound screen. “The field is too full of blood, I can’t get a good reading or find the bleeder. Might be his spleen or his liver. He needs an OR. Zushi, page general and ortho; Gon, ride up with me, keep an eye on vitals.”

“Yes, doctor,” the posse of nurses and first-year residents chorused, parting for the gurney like a sea and clearing the path ahead of them.

“Am I gonna die?” Alexio asked, looking up at Leorio with wide, frightened eyes. Leorio looked down at him, holding his gaze.

“We are going to do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen. Okay?” Leorio prompted, nodding. Alexio nodded back jerkily. “Is there anyone you want us to call?”

“My wife,” Alexio said. The machines beeped warning tones as his blood pressure started to dip. “Janine. Got her number in my phone, the password is _chimera.”_

“Ah, a fellow man of taste, I see,” Leorio said, nodding his approval at the name of the baseball team.

“’Course,” Alexio hissed out a weak, pained laugh. “Can’t live in Yorknew and _not –”_

He coughed, and a little spurt of blood came out of his lips. Before Leorio could stop him, Alexio reached up to press his fingers weakly to his mouth. His unfocused eyes widened as he studied his slick fingertips. “Oh, fuck. I’m dying, doc, aren’t I?”

“Not yet, you’re not,” Leorio assured him, and Alexio huffed out a second, weaker laugh. Leorio grasped the railing of his gurney, quickly but clearly explaining, “Gon is going to prep you for surgery. I need to go scrub in now. But then I will be in there with you the whole time. I’m gonna help you through this, Alexio.”

“Okay,” Alexio said weakly. Leorio tapped the gurney twice so that he could be wheeled away to be sterilized for surgery. In the scrub room, Leorio quickly stripped off his trauma gown and used gloves, depositing them in the biohazard container and going to the sink to start washing his hands. Already he saw Doctors Pitou and Colt (general and orthopedic surgeons, respectively) preparing to work, their voices oddly muffled behind their masks. Leorio stared at his hands as he scrubbed, thinking about Alexio’s injuries and odds, how he could best assist, _if_ he could even assist, or if he would just be in the way of the older and more experienced attendings. His constant anxiety and imposter syndrome crept up the back of his neck with icy, trailing claws.

_You think you can help people? You think you can practice medicine? Do you really think you’re fooling anyone? A blue-collar nobody from the docks? You’re a joke. A charity case. You’re nothing but a naïve child playing dress-up._

_I think it’s admirable._

Leorio shut his eyes, inhaling sharply through the nose. All he smelled was antiseptic and blood and the stale, sterile air. There was no mint and eucalyptus here, no whip-crack of a smile; there were no dark thundercloud eyes to tease and laugh in equal measure. 

No, Kurapika was only a beautiful, shining memory to dwell on when the nights grew lonely. Which, admittedly, was most. 

After drying his arms, Leorio held his wrists up, keeping his hands sterile as he pushed his way through the door into the surgical chamber. He took a deep breath, emptying his mind of everything but the anaesthetized man on the table.

In, out.

Leorio had a job to do.

Six hours later, he wandered into the break room feeling like a zombie on his feet. He face-planted onto the couch, not caring that it left his long toothpick legs dangling awkwardly in the air from the shins down, nor that the ancient thing smelled like sweat, farts, and dried bodily fluids going back thirty years. His nose squished uncomfortably against his face, making it difficult to inhale, which was probably for the best given the aforementioned odors.

“You good?” Zepile asked. The third-year resident sounded both amused and concerned, which was pretty much par for the course. He and Zep were kindred souls ever since Leorio joined the Yorknew General residency program, these two boys from blue-collar families and briny, smoky working class neighborhoods just trying to make their families proud. Leorio groaned weakly and shifted his head so he could speak.

“Great. We managed to save the storehouse crush victim. Super touch-and-go, though. There was more blood on the floor than in his body a time or two.”

“Hey, good save, man,” Zep said, holding out a hand to fist bump. Leorio pulled up his arm and tapped it gently against his fist. “I’m super proud of you.”

Leorio grinned his thanks, flipping over so that he was laying on his back. The break room door opened and a disheveled, smiling Gon poked inside.

“Leorio! Zepile! Hi!” _How_ he could still look so put-together and effortlessly cheerful in hour ten of a twelve-hour shift, Leorio would never understand. The nurse vaulted over an armchair older than he was and settled into the aged cushions in a blur of emerald-green scrubs. “How’s your shift been? D’you have any plans for the weekend? Leorio, great save with that crush victim!”

“Thanks, Gon,” Leorio mumbled, his eyes closed. He could fall asleep _right now,_ Gon’s unending cheer notwithstanding.

“Gon, kiddo, would you mind just…” Zepile held a hand up over his head and brought it down to the level of his jaw. Gon gasped and nodded.

“Sorry!” He stage-whispered. Well, it was nice of him to try, Leorio thought as he wiggled upright.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Leorio assured Gon. “All your energy keeps me young.”

“You’re not old, Leorio!” Gon chirped, bless him. “You’re, what? Twenty-nine? Thirty?”

“I’m ready for the urn,” Zepile, thirty-one, announced. He stood up to approach the coffee machine. “Coffee, Leo?”

“Yeah.” Leorio ran his hands over his face, trying to soothe the puffiness around his eyes. Stubble caught on his palms. He needed a shave.

“And to answer your question, Gon, _my_ shift has been full of broken bones and one very gross abscess in a place that shall not be named, because _I_ did not catch a crush injury as it came in.” Zepile handed Leorio a styrofoam cup. He sipped it and nearly gagged; the coffee was over-brewed and bitter, almost syrupy as it coated his tongue. Zepile made the _worst_ coffee, and it was a sign of his exhaustion with his third-year residency that the redhead could down this black tar like it was nothing. The absolute madman. “On the bright side, though, I’m taking one of those cute nurses to the gala Sunday night. Apparently, one of the perks of being Senior Resident is getting invites to those bigwig parties. Leo, I heard you got an invitation, too, you lucky bastard. You’re going, right?”

“Like hell,” Leorio grimaced. The literal last thing he wanted to do after a twelve-hour Saturday night shift was attend a black-tie hospital event so the residency program could parade him around like a show dog. _Look, he’s poor_ andbisexual! He’s miserable and he can’t even get properly wasted to get through this! See, the medical program really is open to all! Ask him all kinds of strange, invasive questions and give us more money than God! 

Yeah, no thanks.

“O-ho, hot date?” Zepile asked, grinning at Leorio. Gon sat cross-legged on the armchair, his head flicking back and forth like he was watching a particularly mediocre tennis match.

Leorio snorted. “Because I’ve got time to find a date. No, I plan to sleep all day, get delivery, and eat my weight in half-price drugstore chocolates.”

“But _Leorio,”_ Gon gasped, his tone somewhere between a whine and yelp. “The gala looks so fun and fancy! You get to meet people that the hospital has helped and see how they’ve recovered! And there’s nice food and dancing and you get to dress up nice! You don’t want to go to that?”

 _Fuck no, I don’t,_ Leorio almost said, but he bit it back. There was no reason to drag down Gon’s cheerful mood and ardor for the holiday; he was cranky, not a complete asshole. So instead, he took another sip of his horrendous coffee and said, “In that case, Gon, do you want my invitation?”

Gon’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. Zepile hid his smile into his coffee cup; he knew Leorio’s grumpy exterior hid the fact that he was just as much of a softie as Gon. Gon said, “Really? You’d do that? But isn’t it yours?”

Leorio shrugged. “It’s not like it’s addressed to me. You should be able to get in as long as you have it in hand and are dressed up for the occasion.”

 _“U-waaah!”_ Gon yelped, throwing his hands up and beaming bright enough to rival the rising sun streaking across the floor. “Thank you! I can’t wait!”

Leorio chuckled, shaking his head. “No problem. Thanks for taking it off my hands. Remind me to get it to you before we leave today.”

“Sure thing!” All of their pagers went off at once, which was Leorio’s reminder that his five minutes to breathe were five too many, as usual. He chugged the last of his coffee, pinching his nose to dull the taste, and grabbed a tin of breath mints to pop one or seven. Zepile shot him a look as they headed to the ambulance bay to grab their trauma gowns and gloves.

“It’s not that bad,” Zepile told him.

“Zep, I’m gonna be honest,” Leorio replied, tying his trauma gown behind his back. “You make the worst coffee I have ever had in my life, and I really hope this medicine thing works out for you, because it’s the only thing you have going for you.”

“Fuck off,” Zepile shot back, laughing hard. Leorio smiled at the sound; as tiring and emotionally taxing as this job was, they had to find what joy they could. Zepile went on, “And what’s this about you spending Valentine’s Day alone? What happened with New Year’s Guy?”

“Nothing,” Leorio said. His tone made it clear he was not going to carry on this conversation, but Zepile, work-best-friend he was, plowed right on through that “Do Not Enter” sign.

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Zepile replied. “That’s kind of why I asked. You’ve been even more grouchy and miserable lately –”

“I’m a second-year resident. We’re hardly _happy_ people.”

“– Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, you just _wait_ ‘til next year. Anyway, you came back from that date with stars in your eyes and a spring in your step and a real, genuine, slap-happy _smile_ on your face.” Zep raised an eyebrow at him. “And then I watched it fade. So why the hell haven’t you called him?”

Leorio shrugged. “Because we weren’t supposed to _date_. It was _a_ date. A date for the holiday. A single platonic outing. A holidate. And then we were to part ways, never to meet again.”

“Yeah, Leo, I got the gist the first eight times you explained it. Also, you’re a doctor, not a poet,” Zepile reminded him with a snort. Leorio elbowed him sharply in the side, and Zep laughed. “Sure, it started like that. But you clearly _liked_ _him._ Still do, I bet. And it was an agreement, not a blood oath or a residency contract. So why not call him?”

Leorio tore his gaze away from Zepile as the sirens grew louder and louder. “Well, it’s not like he ever called _me_ , ether.” 

Zepile’s only reply was a vaguely unimpressed look in Leorio’s general direction; he was too tired and too done to even bother with expressing real emotion. Besides, it was a weak argument and they both knew it. Leorio sighed and stepped out into the ambulance bay, stretching his arms over his head and digging deep for the last stores of his energy. In a more measured tone, he said, “It’s been two months. I’d feel weird or desperate reaching out now. Best to leave it in the past. Besides, it was a hell of a party, but it was just some night with some guy. I’m sure whatever this… _funk_ I’ve been in since is just my head being tired and lonely and making up something out of a lot of nothing. So I’m letting sleeping dogs lie, cutting bait, whatever metaphor you want to use. C’mon, let’s focus.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zepile send him one last doubtful expression. But Zepile approached the ambulance backing in with the calm, professional demeanor who was ready to step up into an attending ER physician position the second his residency was over.

“What’ve we got?” Zepile asked.

~

Valentine’s Day dawned gray and cloudy with a forty percent chance of snow, like the weather wasn’t even interested enough to commit to the stupid Hallmark holiday. “Dawned” was an interesting word to use, because Leorio was wide awake when the clock hit midnight on Valentine’s Day, up to his elbows in intestine from a car accident. He was on his feet until he left the hospital – forty minutes after his shift ended, his charting like chicken-scratch as the last of his caffeine faded from his system. He barely made it home to his little one-bedroom apartment to scarf down a bowl of cereal and face-plant directly into bed, sleeping a solid five and a half hours until he woke up at three. 

He had a huge pile of laundry to do, and his refrigerator was almost empty, and he could stand to water his plants, but as Leorio stared up at the ceiling, he found he didn’t want to do _any_ of that. Leorio wanted to sit on his couch and eat junk food and feel sorry for himself.

 _You came back from that date with stars in your eyes and a spring in your step and a real, genuine, slap-happy_ smileon your face, Zepile said a few days ago. Leorio wanted to scoff. Of course he did. He was pretty sure it was impossible to do anything else after a night – well, a _holidate_ – with Kurapika. Or any time with him, really. Because Leorio woke up past noon on New Year’s Day _grinning_ from the memories of the night (dancing, talking, laughing, running pell-mell all over a swanky nightclub looking for a stranger’s engagement ring, hand in hand) until he remembered the rest of the deal.

One holiday. One date. That was it.

He’d seen flashes of Kurapika, of course. On the news, in the paper, once in a televised interview that was showing in the waiting room. Leorio almost had a heart attack when he heard his voice. But he only ducked his head, tore his eyes away from the petite blond figure on the screen, and got back to work.

 _That’s over,_ Leorio reminded himself as he peeled himself off his mattress and got into the shower. _It’s all over and it’s for the best, anyway._

(Just because he thought Kurapika was hilarious and hot as hell and sharp-tongued and unexpectedly kind, just because he made Leorio feel comfortable, happy, _safe_ , just because he listened to Leorio and did not think he was a fool or an idiot or a fraud – just because he made Leorio happy for a single night did not mean they would not make each other miserable if they ever met again. If they gave anything a try.

And it was all moot, anyway, because Kurapika never called him.

So it was all for the best.)

Leorio was feeling too lazy and sorry for himself to want to bother shaving or putting in his contacts. He needed to buy real food, but he decided that was a problem for Tomorrow-Leorio. So he pulled on his favorite, most-worn jeans, the ones with the fashionable-looking runs and almost-holes that were actually just from age, and his favorite Yorknew Med sweatshirt. He did not bother with a real shirt under it; it wasn't like he was doing anything for the rest of the day.

Leorio’s glasses fogged up as he kept his head tucked under his hood. It was a ten minute walk to the drugstore, and he was shivering lightly by the time he walked through the automatic doors. He was still groggy from his nap, so he found himself walking on autopilot, wandering over to grab a pack of hard ciders and then heading to the candy aisle. The closer he got, the more he heard people anxiously flipping through last-minute gifts of cards, chocolates, candies, and toys.

 _Poor bastards,_ Leorio thought as he looked over the masses. _I’m so glad that’s not me._

(If he felt a small twinge in his stomach telling him, _that’s not quite true,_ he ignored it. If he felt a curl of jealousy that all these people had someone to give their cards and candy, someone to go home to, someone to hold their hand on late nights, to celebrate their victories and mourn their losses… 

He ignored it.)

Leorio flexed his hand around his basket. Here he was, twenty-nine years old, exhausted to his very marrow, his metaphorical candle burned down to nubs at both ends, three days’ scruff on his face and neck, buying beer and an embarrassing amount of half-price chocolate to eat alone in his apartment while the pharmacy’s tinny speakers blasted an old, chirpy love song from the fifties.

 _Pathetic,_ he thought. _Something’s gotta give. Something’s gotta change._

Leorio rounded a corner and slammed chest-to-face with someone. The both let out soft _oof_ _’s_ , and Leorio reflexively brought up his hands to steady whoever it was he’d smashed into, babbling:

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going –”

“Yes, well, _that_ was perfectly clear,” the figure muttered under their breath, and Leorio’s heart stopped. Because Leorio was frozen to the spot, it was this person’s job to pull back, brows irritably furrowed before he looked up and met Leorio’s gaze. Then he froze, as well.

_Kurapika._

It was _Kurapika_ he’d bumped into, literally _bumped into_ , Kurapika who was standing in front of him. Kurapika who was wearing jeans and an unfairly tight sweater and an adorably oversized, cream-colored cardigan with enormous buttons. Kurapika who was holding his own basket of very cheap, very strong wine, chocolates, and about a dozen various skin- and hair-care products.

It was very much the basket of a person with absolutely no plans to see _anyone_ for Valentine’s Day, and Leorio was almost bowled over by the sheer, overwhelming _relief_ that rushed through him. Because he was a selfish _asshole_ , apparently.

“Leorio,” Kurapika observed, blinking up at him. They’d been staring at each other for a weirdly long time in this pharmacy aisle. Leorio stared a bit longer, though, because he could not tear his eyes away from Kurapika’s face. Even under the perpetually unflattering fluorescent lights, he was _beautiful_ , exactly as impossibly lovely as Leorio recalled: fine features, dark eyes, lithe frame. Kurapika shifted from foot to foot. “You look tired.”

Leorio shot him a look. “You don’t look so hot, yourself.”

It was true; the bags below Kurapika’s eyes were deep violet and slightly hollow-looking from exhaustion. But Leorio also wanted to kick himself for speaking before he thought. He was also pretty sure at least three people snickered or gasped quietly. Why would he say that? Why was _that_ what he said? Not _hey, how are you, how’ve you been, how’s work, have you been thinking about me at all like I’ve been thinking about you?_

No. Nope. Because Leorio was a moron, and his overworked brain thought telling this objectively stunning man that _he wasn’t so hot, himself_ was a good idea. He was going to run out the door and jump into traffic. Leorio had run-ins with _actual exes_ that were less awkward than this.

But Kurapika’s lips twitched, and suddenly he was _laughing_. And it was like the sun started shining in the middle of this candy aisle, between the Hershey’s bars and the Lindt’s truffles. Kurapika’s smile utterly _transformed_ his face, the apples of his cheeks going pink and laugh lines appearing around his eyes and lips smiling, pink, perfect. Kurapika lifted a hand to his face to muffle the sound, and Leorio almost reached over to pull it away, because how could he even _think_ about hiding a smile like that from the world? Holy _shit._

“Then we are even,” Kurapika said, finally calming himself. Leorio smiled from just hearing his accent again, at the way he shied away from using contractions.

“Good,” Leorio said. He rubbed a hand nervously over the back of his neck. “You’ve, um, been good?”

“I’ve been well, yes,” Kurapika replied, nodding once, and Leorio wanted to stick his tongue out at him. Kurapika tucked a loose bit of hair behind his ear, asking, “And you?”

“I’ve been good, too. Uh. Well,” Leorio corrected, and Kurapika smiled again.

“Good.” He glanced into Leorio’s basket. To his horror, he took a step back as if to go. “Well. I will leave you to the rest of your shopping. Happy Valentine’s Day, Leorio.”

“You, too,” Leorio said to him. Kurapika sent him a little wave and turned to go. Leorio watched him move, the way his hair tickled the nape of his neck, the slender curl of his shoulders under that soft, enormous sweater, its overlong sleeves flopping down over his knuckles.

 _You came back with stars in your eyes,_ Zepile said. But those stars had nothing on the smattering of freckles that danced across the bridge of Kurapika’s nose.

“Wait!”

Kurapika whirled around almost before Leorio finished the word. Their fellow shoppers were staring at the free show while trying to pretend they weren’t, and he did his best to ignore them. Leorio asked, “D’you have any plans the rest of the day?”

Kurapika stared up at him with wide eyes. For a second Leorio feared Kurapika would tell him to fuck off and stop making an ass of himself in public. But then he smiled again, just a little twitch of his lips quirking up on one side. He said, “I do not.”

“Okay. Cool.” Just because it was what Leorio guessed and kind of hoped for didn’t mean he wasn’t _surprised_. How _anyone_ would not jump at the chance to spend a day with this man, Leorio would never fathom. He took another few steps closer, heedless of the shoppers around them. “Concept: you, me, our respective cheap drinks, a horrifying amount of chocolate, delivery, and a bad rom-com marathon. Thoughts?”

Kurapika tilted his head in consideration. The smile on his face grew wider as he held up his basket. “Add in some of these face masks, and I believe you have a deal, doctor.”

Leorio’s stomach flipped at hearing the teasing endearment, but he shoved that aside. For one, he did _not_ want that to become A Thing with him, at least where Kurapika was concerned; for another, this was most certainly still a platonic last hurrah.

“Alright, then,” Leorio said with a grin. “One more holidate in the books.”

Kurapika’s eyes flashed in a mischievous sort of smirk, like lightning sparking through a thundercloud. Leorio’s heart jumped to match. “Then lead the way.”

They completed their purchases with the front cashier and headed back toward Leorio’s place. For a few minutes they walked side-by-side in silence. Leorio asked, just to break the silence and because he didn’t see a car, “D’you live around here?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes,” Kurapika said. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the opposite way. “My apartment is about ten minutes in that direction.”

“Huh,” Leorio replied instead of, _holy shit, not to be a cliché but where have you been all my life?_ “Interesting. I’m ten minutes _this_ way.”

Kurapika laughed quietly. “The older I get, the more I realize that Yorknew can be surprisingly small when you least expect it.”

“That’s true,” Leorio agreed. They chatted a little more as they walked, aimless small-talk that was barely a step above awkward. Yes, the weather was cold lately. Yeah, the walk to the subway stop on thirty-fifth was especially miserable in the mornings before the streets were cleared. Wow, the Whole Foods is having a sale? That’s great.

It was so different from the last time they saw each other that Leorio had half a mind to call the whole thing off, except his eyes kept catching on the downcast set to Kurapika’s eyes and the slightly defensive curl of his shoulders. He seemed… guarded, somehow. Shy. Leorio wished he could ask about it.

But he learned that he needn’t have worried too long; when they arrived at Leorio’s apartment, Kurapika hesitated for another moment at the bottom step.

“Leorio,” he started. He turned around to see Kurapika eyeing him warily. “Just to be clear, there will not be any… _fornicating_ in this encounter.”

Leorio cocked an eyebrow, feeling his face heat up. Part of him wondered if he ought to be offended or ask, _do I seem like that kind of guy_ , but he remembered that he’d spent less than six hours total with this man. Incredible holidate aside, they were still very much strangers. And Leorio respected Kurapika for taking the initiative to communicate loud and clear what his boundaries were. Because the last thing Leorio wanted to do was make him uncomfortable.

So he grinned. “‘Fornicate?’ You really are a grandpa.” Kurapika opened his mouth to reply with something probably irritable and witty, but Leorio carried on before he could. In a more serious voice, Leorio said, “I read you loud and clear. I’m not looking for anything like that, either. I swear, I’m just looking for someone to hang out with.” He hefted his bag a little as an example. “T’be honest, I really wasn’t looking forward to spending today alone.”

Kurapika tilted his head to one side, considering. A minute later, he smiled again. His shoulders finally loosened. 

“I confess,” Kurapika told him softly, “Nor was I.”

Leorio eyed him for another moment. He mentally added to his list, K _urapika’s language gets more formal the more nervous he is._ It was an interesting think to think about when he considered Kurapika’s rigid posture and eloquence when he spoke in court or gave press briefings.

(So Leorio was _a lot_ more well-informed about local news in Yorknew since their holidate on New Year’s. He simply wanted to be a well-educated citizen and definitely not catch the occasional clip or soundbite of the incredible man in front of him).

He followed Leorio inside. Leorio sensed Kurapika examining the renovated marble floors and the golden lights in the old-hotel-turned-apartment building. Leorio was privately grateful that, for as little time his job left to clean, it also left just as little time to leave clutter around his living space. Which was why Kurapika’s first glimpse of his apartment was to see his sparse kitchen, his cluttered bathroom, and his barely lived-in living room. The far wall featured a large, immensely comfortable couch that guests melted into like butter, a central coffee table spread over with mugs and textbooks, a bookshelf along one wall, and a desk facing the window. 

“You have a balcony?” Kurapika asked with interest, eyeing the door next to the television. “Or is that your murder chamber?”

“Sex dungeon, actually,” Leorio said, and Kurapika snorted out a laugh.

“Do you garden?” Kurapika asked as he stepped into the living room.

“Not really. Black thumb,” Leorio explained when Kurapika eyed him again. He hovered awkwardly in the entryway between the front door, kitchen, and living room, watching Kurapika put down his bags on the table. He slowly walked to the bookshelf, looking over the titles with his head tilted to read them better. Textbook, textbook, emergency medicine guide, _another_ emergency medicine guide, cardiology, respiratory systems, the odd fantasy or mystery novel. Suddenly Kurapika beamed.

“You’re _kidding_ ,” he said, reaching for a book on the shelf. He pulled out a hardcover book with silver chains interlocked over a black background and an elaborately designed golden mask inlaid with twin red gemstones that Leorio knew were supposed to be red diamonds. _“The Phantom Thief?”_

“Yeah!” Leorio cried, approaching and taking the book. He thumbed through the well-loved pages with delight. “I’m a huge fan! I love the action, the humor, the heist and crime and mystery elements, the romance! I can’t _wait_ for the third book, I think it’s a _crime_ they haven’t been turned into a movie franchise yet. Or TV, I think that’d be better, because then they could really flesh out the characters and spend time developing all their relationships – why are you laughing? I assumed you were a fan!”

Kurapika snickered. “Worse.” He ran a fingertip over the sequel book’s spine. “The author, Pairo, is also my _brother_ , Pairo.”

“No way!” Leorio half-shouted. “For real? That’s _so cool!”_

Kurapika shook his head, still smiling. “It is the _opposite_ , I assure you. He is the _biggest_ dork.”

“Well, obviously,” Leorio agreed. “He’s your brother. And that makes him an automatic doofus.” Leorio wanted to bottle Kurapika’s laugh like a distilled liqueur, just so he could savor it. Just so he would never forget the sound of it. “But he’s your famous author brother to compliment you as the famous lawyer.”

Kurapika shook his head. His cheeks went bright pink. “I’m hardly famous. Try _infamous_ , maybe.”

“Yeah?” Leorio asked, perching his elbow on the bookshelf. “Tough guy?”

“The toughest,” Kurapika said. This time, when he smiled, it was all teeth. It was charming, dangerous, and alluring all at once. Leorio’s chest twinged with an interest that was very much _not_ platonic. But Kurapika stepped back to the coffee table to pick up his back of various face masks. “Now, this tough guy is going to dig out about six pounds of gunk from his skin and use some under-eye collagen eye masks. Care to join?”

Leorio was pretty sure he would agree to anything Kurapika asked him when he smiled like that. Platonic hang-out or no.

Because it was so nice to have someone else there with him, in his apartment, sharing his space. Elbowing him for space at his sink, doing pore strips and face masks. Exfoliating, then hydrating for Leorio and brightening for Kurapika, and then a cucumber mask for them both. Leorio asked a million questions, because dermatology was _not_ his strong suit, and Kurapika patiently answered, wearing under-eye patches patterned with moons and stars, his hair half-tied back with a hair tie and looking so adorable and innocuous and not at all like someone who had made criminals cry in courts of law.

This was easy. This was nice. This was _fun_. Leorio stood in his bathroom with a near-stranger, splashing water from his tiny sink onto his jeans and laughing from his stomach for the first time in weeks. He caught Kurapika’s eye and grinned at him, reaching over to swipe a bit of clay mask from his hairline with his thumb. 

_I like this,_ Leorio thought, _stars in his eyes and slap-happy smile and all._

~

“You take _horrible_ care of your plants,” Kurapika observed, standing at the windowsill. He ran his fingers over the yellow-tipped leaves, feeling how they faded from green and supple to papery. Leorio scowled up from his spot perched cross-legged on the couch, his open computer on his lap.

“I’m never here. Sue me.”

“That’s civil, not criminal,” Kurapika told him. Leorio scoffed.

“Don’t worry, no one who’s met you would accuse you of being _civil.”_

“I resent that,” Kurapika stated like he was speaking for the record. Leorio heaved a long-suffering sigh.

“Duly noted. Now will you please get over here and tell me what you want to eat?”

Kurapika bit back a smile and went to sit on the couch. He sat cross-legged beside him, three careful inches between their knees. Leorio’s shirt collar was still rumbled and damp on the neckline from washing off the face mask. Kurapika remembered Leorio stepping out of the bathroom to put on a real shirt, since he hadn’t anticipated anyone actually coming back with him when he went out to get food. Kurapika almost palmed his clay mask over his mouth when Leorio thoughtlessly whipped his sweatshirt over his head, thinking he was out of Kurapika’s line of sight and probably assuming he wouldn’t care about what he saw if he _did_. Ha. As _if._ Instead, Kurapika would be be haunted forever by the chiseled planes of his back, by his broad, muscular shoulders tapering down into a trim waist, by the way his low-riding jeans revealed the dimples in his lower back. He was so handsome it was _obscene,_ even here in his own apartment. His skin was tanned, smooth, his body _perfect_ ; it was _made_ for supporting people who couldn’t support themselves in their greatest moments of need, for gentle, lingering touches and scraping nails –

 _Enough,_ Kurapika internally snapped at himself. _No fornication. This is just a night to platonically enjoy this holiday. To chase away the loneliness. Casually._

“Do you have any food restrictions?” Kurapika asked. “Any allergies? Vegetarian? Gluten-free? Vegan?”

Leorio snorted out a laugh. “No. I mean, respect to people who have their own special diets for whatever reason. It takes too much energy to bother with what other people do, so long as they’re healthy about it and don’t shame other folks, you know? But for me, nah. Oh, shit.” Leorio clicked on a logo for a pizza shop. _“DiMaggio’s_ is on GrubHub now. We’re getting this.”

“Then why did you ask me what I thought?” Kurapika asked, faux-irritated.

“Because I cared about your opinion, and then I saw that the best pizza shop in the city is having a sale, and then I stopped caring.”

Kurapika snickered. “Fair enough.” 

He eyed Leorio’s long, elegant fingers as they flicked across the keys with interest. Leorio did not notice, asking, “How ‘bout you? Any allergies?”

“No,” Kurapika said. “Wait, hey, back. Get the stuffed crust.”

“On a deep dish pizza?” Leorio asked.

“It’s like getting stuffed cheesy bread for free,” Kurapika explained. “Get some dipping sauce on the side –”

“Holy shit, your _mind,”_ Leorio gasped, his eyes wide like he’d been shown an entirely new world. He hit the _place order_ button before Kurapika could get his wallet out of his pocket. Wordlessly, Kurapika sent him a look. Leorio lifted an eyebrow at him, his expression droll.

“It’s a single pizza. I would have ordered it anyway. Put your wallet away.”

Kurapika stuck his tongue out at him. Leorio shook his head and rose to head to the kitchen.

“D’you want anything? Water? A glass? Or were you planning on just chugging your Capriccio Rosé from the bottle?”

“Screw you,” Kurapika called, not bothering to hide his laugh. He heard Leorio chuckle as well as he rifled through the kitchen, returning a few moments later with two glasses. One was a pint glass with the University of Yorknew logo emblazoned on it; the other was a comically large wine glass with a pink base and kitschy gold lettering proclaiming, _It’s My Birthday, Bitch!_

“It was a gift,” Leorio explained, preempting any question Kurapika may have asked. “It seemed appropriate given your beverage choice.”

Kurapika shot him a glare, but that was also a really funny dig, so he retained his dignity by unscrewing the wine and giving a generous pour. Beside him, Leorio was doing the same thing with his hard cider.

“Pizza should be here in an hour,” Leorio explained, reaching for the remote and video game controller to pull up Netflix. “We can start a movie.”

“Or I can kick your ass in Smash Ultimate,” Kurapika offered, his eyes catching over the limited video game options the menu presented. Which made sense, he supposed. Between work and his studies and medical school bills, Kurapika imagined Leorio did not have a lot of time to relax. It was clear that Leorio did not get the opportunity to entertain much, either, he mused, looking around the apartment. It was clean enough, if a bit cluttered, but overall there was an air of neglect to the space. Like it was, at heart, a place for Leorio to hang up his shirts and shower and sleep between shifts.

Kurapika knew the feeling well, because it was exactly how his apartment felt, too.

“I don’t have a second controller,” Leorio said apologetically. “Maybe next time, I can borrow –”

He stopped. Kurapika’s stomach flipped. They both looked at each other, momentarily lost for words.

 _Maybe next time,_ Kurapika thought. He wondered, _Do you want there to be a next time? Do you really want to see me again? Did you want to see me again last time?_

_If you did, why didn’t you call?_

Leorio looked away, coughing to clear his throat. He held the controller out to Kurapika. “So. You pick the movie.”

“Such power,” Kurapika joked, trying to return to their lighthearted banter from before. He paged through the Netflix romcom catalogue. “I could look at your ‘recently watched’ and judge you.”

“Go ahead. It’s all documentaries and true crime,” Leorio said. “I watch it to fall asleep.”

“Dreaming of murder?” Kurapika asked, raising a brow with a smirk on his lips. “Is this when you admit to being a serial killer?”

“Nah, the narrator’s voice just knocks me out. And if I was going to commit crimes, it’d be arson,” Leorio said. He ran a hand through his hair and sipped his sider. Kurapika watched his throat move with undue focus. “Between student loans and medical debt, I’d set some fires if it would help people with their bills.”

He trailed off briefly. For a moment, he looked as tired as he did when they first met in the store: lips downturned, eyes distant. Then he visibly made himself perk up. “But this is supposed to be a _fun_ , light-hearted hangout, so we will get back to that!” He raised a hand with a flourish, like he was a game show host. “Pick a movie, any movie!”

Kurapika tore his gaze away from this kind, handsome man, the one who looked like a lost Greek god and yet couldn’t find someone to spend Valentine’s Day with. The one who opened his home to a near-stranger, simply because he didn’t want to be alone.

 _You don’t have to pretend,_ Kurapika wanted to say. He selected _50 First Dates_ and set the controller on the coffee table. He held his wine with both hands, fingers curled around the large glass, and made himself stare at the TV. Adam Sandler’s dialogue went straight through one ear and out the other.

 _You don’t have to pretend with me_ , Kurapika wished he could say. But that was something a friend would say, or someone who _wanted_ to be friends would say, and Kurapika was still not quite sure where their boundaries lay. He wasn’t even sure what they were _doing_ here, exactly, except he liked it and he didn’t want to leave quite yet. He had never found himself in a situation like this, felt so much so _quickly_ for a stranger. It was frightening, or it should have been, but to Kurapika it was just frighteningly _easy_.

And it _stayed easy_. When the pizza arrived and Leorio paused his laughter at some witty quip of Kurapika’s to get it, leaving a flushed and giggling Kurapika to get himself under control. When he returned with a five-pound deep-dish pizza of dough and cheese and sauce and they opened the box to realize that the DiMaggio’s staff shaped the pizza into a _heart_ , which sent the two men into hysterics all over again. When they bickered for twenty minutes over Kurapika’s request of a fork and knife for his pizza, a request Leorio responded to with such visceral offense one would have thought Kurapika suggested they punt a puppy across the street. By the end of the movie, Kurapika’s hands were covered in pizza grease, his just-past-tipsy mind was unduly fascinated by the little smear of marinara sauce clinging to the corner of Leorio’s mouth, and he had _no idea_ what actually happened in their movie.

“Another movie?” Leorio asked, tapping the pause button as the credits rolled. The sky outside was starting to dim, and Leorio had already reached over his head to turn on the lamp. It illuminated the room in low, warm yellow light.

“Sure,” Kurapika agreed easily, thoroughly wiping his hands off on a napkin. He sent Leorio a grin. “We’ve barely touched the chocolate.”

“Of course,” Leorio said, nodding. He flipped through the romantic comedy selections. “Okay, pick. _Always Be My Maybe? Set It Up? Someone Great?”_

“No, those are all _good_ movies,” Kurapika insisted, rolling his eyes. He reached for a mixed bag of Lindt’s Truffles. He reached inside at random and pulled out a brown-foil wrapped one. Mm, caramel. He unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. He said around his mouthful of chocolate, “I don’t want to watch a good movie.”

 _“Why?”_ Leorio demanded. For his own part, he reached for a tacky heart-shaped box wrapped with a velvet bow. He flipped it open and picked up the inset that explained which chocolates were which. “Why would you want to watch a _bad_ movie? Bad action movies I get. Same with bad horror movies. Those are fun. And I know a _great_ drinking game for horror movies. But bad rom coms are just painful cringe-fests.”

“Because…” _Because a good rom-com makes me feel stupid things like hope,_ Kurapika thought. _They leave me sitting alone in my apartment with my ice cream, or sitting beside my lovingly married brothers, and realizing that I’m going to be alone forever._

But he was not going to get into that with Leorio, this perfect, beautiful stranger who had not asked to hear the existential thoughts that kept him up at night, so he finished, “Because they’re also fun to make fun of. In a _schadenfreude_ sort of way.”

“Your mind is such a strange place,” Leorio said, shaking his head. “Okay, fine. How about this one? _When We First Met?”_

Kurapika had never heard of it in his life. “Let’s do it.”

 _When We First Met,_ as it turned out, was a mixed bag. At least in Kurapika’s exacting opinion. There was plenty to laugh and cringe at, though Kurapika found himself touched by the overall story. Something about how _the people who are meant to be part of our lives come into them at just the right time, even if it may take us a while to figure out just how they’re supposed to fit._

A theme like that _did_ appeal to Kurapika’s secretly romantic nature. But he was also more interested in methodically decimating this bag of truffles and trying the occasional chocolate Leorio foisted his way (he did not like nuts in his chocolate, apparently, and he’d decided to make that Kurapika’s problem). For his own part, Kurapika tried to give Leorio the white chocolate and raspberry truffles, and as much as Leorio complained, he secretly ate all of them.

There was something warm settling behind Kurapika’s breastbone, but he decided to tack that up to the wine and chocolate and the soft blue blanket Leorio tossed at him when Kurapika said he was cold. The blanket smelled like detergent and, faintly, of Leorio’s cologne. Kurapika wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and burrowed into it, trying his best not to look exactly like the grandpa Leorio accused him of being.

They were stuffed and warm as the second movie wound to a close. Leorio closed Netflix and turned off the TV, which Kurapika interpreted as _okay, this was nice, now get out of my apartment._ Which made sense. It was past eight o’clock when Kurapika peeked at his watch. But in the sudden silence and comparative dimness as the screen went black, Kurapika and Leorio stayed where they were. Leorio’s fingers tapped against the outer rim of his glass in a rhythm more anxious than impatient. Kurapika tucked himself just a bit tighter into the blanket. They were plenty good at talking to one another when they were comfortable, but they struggled to get started and stumbled on the dismount. Their atmosphere went from awkward, to effortlessly natural, and then back to stiff and unsure all over again. 

_I should go,_ he ought to say. _Thanks for this, goodbye, have a nice life. For real this time._

Kurapika had enough on his plate, between work, work, and… work. But as one of the youngest ADAs in recent history, he needed to continuously prove to the public, to his colleagues, and to _himself_ that he had truly _earned_ his position. That he was more than a diversity hire. That all the things he missed out on while he worked – family time, birthdays, friendships, dating – were worth it, because he was doing _good work_ and _helping people_ and all that. 

“This was fun,” Leorio said at last. He glanced at Kurapika. “What d’you think?”

Kurapika thought that the half-empty pizza box and candy wrappers strewn over the table were evidence enough that he was hardly a hostage here, but he could respect wanting to hear it verbally acknowledged. So he nodded brusquely. “Yes. It was fun.”

 _Fun_. It was fun. When was the last time Kurapika could look someone in the eye and honestly say _he’d had fun?_

(But of course Kurapika knew. He knew it was New Year’s Eve. A month and a half ago. Kurapika had not laughed like this, had not even truly _smiled_ like this, in nearly two months. And it was not until he was forced to reckon with that reality that he realized how _sad_ that was. How pathetic.)

“I’ve got an idea,” Leorio announced suddenly, interrupting Kurapika’s self-flagellating thoughts. He twisted in his spot to look Kurapika in the face.

Kurapika had not known this man for long, but he was comfortable enough in his estimation of Leorio’s character to say, “This sounds dangerous.”

“Screw you,” Leorio automatically replied. “Anyway. What do you think of making this holidate arrangement a more permanent thing?”

“What do I think about – _what?”_ Kurapika asked. He found himself wrakced with the oddest sense of déjà vu. “What holidays are coming up?”

“Don’t discount it immediately!” Leorio insisted. “Hear me out. Spring and summer are coming after the winter –”

“The seasons tend to follow that order, yes.”

“–You are _such_ a smartass, oh my _God_ , you’re really making me second-guess this. Anyway.” Leorio sent him a look that begged him to _please_ shut up and let him get through what was undoubtedly going to be a ridiculous proposal before Kurapika made fun of him for it. Still, Kurapika prided himself on listening to all the most ridiculous proposals, so he mimed zipping his lips shut. Leorio shook his head, smiling and looking just a little fond. “And summer means loads of parties and festivals and other shit. I don’t know about _you_ , but _I_ have no desire to third-wheel my friends and family as they bask in the Lilac Festival or the Midsummer Festival or, y’know, a billion other parties or events in the summer.”

“And your solution is to extend our New Year’s arrangement for… the foreseeable future?” Kurapika prompted.

“Yep,” Leorio confirmed. “Until we get sick of each other. Or meet other people we _actually_ want to date, I suppose. And this will still be platonic, no-strings-attached, no expectations. No _fornication.”_

He ended his statement with a wink. Like _that_ was what Kurapika was most concerned about. And it was. But it also wasn’t. Leorio concluded, “You don’t need to answer right now if you don’t want–”

“It’s fine,” Kurapika interrupted. He ran his fingers over the blanket fabric, thinking. Leorio was essentially proposing a friends-for-a-day, non-exclusive contract for the foreseeable future. Was Kurapika truly so lonely and desperate that he would agree to something like this?

Not to mention that the thoughts Kurapika had entertained about Leorio for the past several weeks (and hours) were not quite _platonic_. Nor did they close the door to _fornication_. But if those were the boundaries Leorio wanted to set from the get-go, Kurapika was not going to push. The last thing he wanted to do was make Leorio uncomfortable, or make him feel like Kurapika was only interested in his companionship in a physical sense.

He had a feeling Leorio would not admit to it if asked, but Kurapika was beginning to suspect Leorio might be as lonely as he was.

The truth was, Kurapika was lonely. And he’d _missed_ Leorio these past several weeks. _He_ was the one who’d been too afraid to reach out. Who was he to criticize Leorio’s idea? At least he was doing something about it. Kurapika was simply prepared to lay in bed and be miserable forever.

“Fine,” Kurapika agreed. He held out a hand to shake. A surprised smirk crossed Leorio’s mouth, his eyes alighting with amusement. He looked like there was a clever remark on the tip of his equally clever tongue, and Kurapika went on before Leorio could mock him. “It’s a deal. We shake on a deal.”

Leorio laughed. It was not a cruel sound. It seemed genuinely happy and – though Kurapika was sure he imagined it – just a little relieved.

“Deal,” Leorio agreed, clasping Kurapika’s hand in his for a firm handshake. His hands were broad and strong and just a little rough from washing them nigh-constantly at work.

“So,” Kurapika started, pulling his hand away and making sure not to pull Leorio with it. He stood up and started to fold the blanket back into a neat square. “I suppose I should head out, then. I will see you… for the Lilac Festival? Is that acceptable?”

Leorio peered up at him, his eyes slightly amused. “It is. Take some chocolate for the road.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Kurapika said. He scooped his chocolate into the pharmacy bag and marched to the door to put on his shoes. Leorio stood as well to walk him out.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Leorio offered. Like the perfect gentlemen he was. Kurapika mentally beat back the strange and totally misplaced sense of guilt that rose up as he realized Leorio was here, wasting his time with him, when he could be out there being this amazing to someone else. Someone who deserved it. Someone he _actually wanted_ to date.

 _Enough,_ Kurapika ordered himself. He made himself smile up at him. “No, I’m sure I’ll be quite alright. It’s a short walk.”

“Sure,” Leorio said. He rubbed at the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. “Of course. Yeah. Text me when you’re home safe, though?”

Kurapika laughed quietly. “Fair enough.”

For another moment they hovered awkwardly over the welcome mat. How did one say good-bye to their platonic, no-strings-attached, holiday date friend? Who was only a friend for the holiday? Who Kurapika may have already wanted to go on a real date with since they first met?

 _Kurapika, this is fucking insane,_ Pairo’s voice echoed in his head. He was probably right. But Kurapika had already agreed, because maybe he was exactly as pathetic and lonely as everyone in his life seemed to think.

“Bye,” Kurapika finally said, and he whirled around on the door to walk home.

“Oh – Bye!” Leorio called. He’d shut and locked the door by the time Kurapika was at the stairwell, glancing back over his shoulder for a last look.

His walk back to his building was about twenty minutes. He passed cutesy cafés, their storefronts covered in lights and pink, fluffy hearts. Inside, all of their tables were occupied with couples and a few throuples. There was a completely different sour taste in his mouth from the one he’d had earlier that day – something bitter and cold, unlike that early afternoon’s acidic irritation, the one that led to him unfairly snapping at Leorio in the drugstore before he realized who he was. The feelings made the lingering sweetness of the chocolate turn to ash on his tongue.

He was lonely, and something about this date-but-not-date agreement with Leorio only left him feeling even more so tonight.

 _Get over yourself,_ Kurapika ordered himself coldly as he walked into his empty, cold apartment. _You’re twenty-seven. Put on your big-boy pants and suck it up. Everyone gets lonely._

He pulled out his phone to send Leorio a text. _Home safe._

Then, because he supposed nothing really mattered, he added, _Tonight was fun._

Kurapika made himself put his phone face-down on his nightstand as he hopped into the shower, so he wouldn’t drive himself insane checking his phone to see if Leorio replied. He’d already had plenty of experience with disappointment in that department, and he was not keen to repeat the experience.

But Kurapika needn’t have worried; there was a notification on his screen when he climbed into his bed, flipping on his heated blanket. It arrived less than five minutes after Kurapika sent his first text.

 _I did, too!_ Leorio wrote. _It was really good to run into you. Literally._ 😜

_See you in March!_

And despite himself and his reservations, Kurapika smiled at his phone.

_See you in March. Goodnight, Leorio._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for anyone curious, i picture the song that is blaring through the pharmacy speakers is ["stupid cupid" by connie francis.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tNGl42cvpUM)
> 
> thank you for reading!!! _bring a friend_ will return in late march! i am also in the process of writing the epilogue of [_light of my life, pain of my ass._](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330557/chapters/64119592) please give it a click if you have not read it!!!!
> 
> i am so tired i am going to play video games. i love you all!! thank you for reading!!!

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaa thank you so much for reading!! if you like, please leave a comment/kudos. if not, no worries!
> 
> as always, you can hmu on my [tumblr](https://thefledglingdm.tumblr.com/) or [twitter!](https://twitter.com/DmFledgling)


End file.
